"Charles! Charles! We want Charles, Charles!" The high voice rose from the street outside. Sunlight scratching his eyes, Charley rose from his bed, dressed in yesterday's clothes, and walked to the window. There, on the sidewalk, were Cal and Freddy, pants partially dropped, mooning him in the cheerful 5 a.m. sun. The sight of their pale white asses wasn't as startling as Cal's liveliness at this early hour. The two turned and, while zipping themselves up, beamed up at him. In the light, Cal looked angelic with a halo of pale blonde hair, now practically grown out into a white afro. Even Freddy looked benign in his way. His friends' buttocks had overshadowed the presence of Bethany and another girl her age, maybe a bit younger, standing beside her and leaning against the silver maple out front. Bethany scowled at Charles, while the other girl's face seemed unaffected by care or anger. She smiled wanly.
"My sister wants to service you, Charles. Hurry up, you don't want to miss that!" Cal said. Bethany stomped over and hit Cal twice in the shoulder with the largest knuckle of her tiny fist.
"Ow!" Cal's face contorted. "Bethany, you bit..." Balling up her fist again, she hammered him square in the chest, and he staggered. She stood her ground, fists still balled up, and arms rigid at her sides, ready to hit him again. But Cal only grinned. Freddy shifted in his spot, mildly brought to attention by the show of violence. The other girl looked worried. Approaching Bethany she tapped her shoulder. Cal's little sister turned, shook her head, and then returned to her original spot, angrily glaring at Charles. He could never figure that out. What was she so mad about?
"Time to go," Cal yelled.
"Where are we going?" Charles answered back.
"'I don't know, but we gotta go till we get there,'" Cal returned. "Or maybe you haven't read that one yet. Figures."
"Cal, shut up! Keep your voice down," Charles said in a directed stage whisper.
"Why? I say..." Cal started turning around slowly, making a megaphone of his hands, directing his words like missiles at the split levels surrounding them. "Why the HELL should I care what anyone in this GOD damned neighborhood thinks of me? Why the HELL do YOU, you pansy-ass CHOAD?" Cal was still smiling, even as he said this. Somehow it didn't hurt this time.
A knock came at Charley's door.
"Charley, what the hell is going on? It's 5:30 in the morning!" said his father through the door. The knock rattled. "Why is this door locked?"
"I locked it. Everything is fine."
"Charley!" Cal this time. Charley waved frantically at him to shut the hell up.
"Charley!" said his father, still rattling the door.
"Charley!" screamed Charles in the middle of the room. Slapping his hands on either side of his head, he leaned forward and shouted. "Charley! Charley! Charley! Just give me a goddamned minute, okay?"
Outside the door, outside the window, both Cal and Charley's father went quiet. He could see neither's expression of surprise at his insolence.
"I better not hear you speak to me that way again," said his father, unconvincingly. He walked away with light footsteps.
Dropping to his knees, and then falling backwards into a pile of magazines, Charles continued to rub his head, which sloped heavily and painfully. Rubbing at it he tried to push out all the assailing thoughts and judgments burning, spiraling, and intermixing through his skull. He wasn't feeling at all well, no.
He looked up at his room, less frightening in the summer morning brightness, but claustrophobic and cheerless nonetheless. Cobwebs and black marks on the ceiling corners and walls, and the smell of stale air and gym socks. Paint. He should paint the room before he returned to school.
"Charles! You. Are. A. Penis!" shouted Cal, pronouncing it PENNIZ.
Shooting upwards, Charles stomped to the window and flipped Cal an imperious double bird.
"Ooooo, feisty!" said Cal. Then he laughed. A warm laugh.
Not bothering with fresh clothes, Charles unlocked the door and went out to meet Cal and the rest.
Despite what he said, Cal knew where he wanted to go. Leading the group, Charles at his right, he walked down to Frank's house. Charles' heart clenched as Freddy started talking to the younger girl, who looked visibly uncomfortable. Bethany stepped between them without a word, only a glowering expression that told Freddy he dare not cross her.
"Why are we going to Frank's?" Charles asked.
"Why aren't we going to Frank's," Cal replied. "He's the only bottomless distraction in this town. He's a village idiot treasure. You should know, Charles."
"What does that mean?"
Rolling his eyes, Cal looked at Charles without breaking stride. The quasi-albino had lost his evil sparkle.
"Stop being coy, Charles. It doesn't suit you anymore. In fact, I'm tired of carrying you. You're a pain," Cal walked a bit further leaving a vexed Charley slightly behind. Never watching where he walked, Freddy almost collided with him, but veered at the last second. Bethany and the other girl strode by, looking up at Charles, Cal's sister scowling and the other girl smiling a closed-mouthed smile. Bethany walked on, leaving the other girl behind.
"Hello," said Other Girl.
Odd, thought Charles, how she'd barely registered before—a figure on the fringes of the circle—now coming into focus.
"Uh, hello?" said Charles. She seemed younger than Bethany, 13 maybe, or even 12, but lacked Bethany's hardness. She was undersized and scrawny. A thin young stick, straight shouldered with a long neck and straight brown hair, parted in the middle. Where Bethany was a tomboy angel this girl was a wasting seraph with large, bright, trusting eyes that didn't belong among their cadre of nerd scum.
"I'm Judy Carmen." She extended a small hand. Charley took and shook it. It was cool, dry, and almost insubstantial. He held it too long.
"I'm Charles," Charles said, very aware of his Charlesness.
"I know. Bethany told me," said the angel.
That Bethany ever mentioned his name, even knew his name, shocked him. He figured he would always be known by some variation of asshole or shithead.
"She thinks you're cute."
"Um, what?" said Charles.
The girl tittered and looked away. "Never," she chittered, "Never mind." Then she ran up to her girlfriend who looked at him with murderous scorn. Further up, Cal stared, mouth slightly opened, goggling at him with large bright eyes.
"Charles, get your ass up here."
They soon stood before Frank's house.
"Help me with the garage, Freddy," said Cal. Eager to have a hand in the proceedings, Freddy rushed up and grabbed hold of the door handle.
"Hold on," said Cal, reaching for his keys. Such attention was unprecedented, and Freddy flushed as Cal acknowledged his existence. The keys came out and Charles was astonished to see Cal unlock Frank's quintuple-checked lock. The door rolled up with a loud creaking, revealing Frank's Buick LeSabre, rusted and mighty.
"The Troll is asleep for the next eight hours. I think that gives us enough time to do what we need to do," said Cal. Twirling the keychain around his index finger, he walked to the driver's side. Freddy and the girls fell behind and by Charles, who began to feel even sicker than he had the night before.
"Frank said you can use his car? I don't think so..." said Charles. "Besides, you don't have a license."
"The Troll handed over the keys to the kingdom when we started working for him. That, to me, is an open invitation. Get in." The driver door opened with its terrible screech, and Cal slid his skinny black and white form sideways into the seat. Turning and looking back at Charles, he grinned again, then let his evil shine drop into a expression of dour seriousness. "You are coming. I won't let you miss this. Freddy? Ladies?"
Many hands grabbed Charles from all sides. His surprise combined with their multiple strengths carried him swiftly to the back seat. The girls sat in back with him, holding him in place, Judy giggling, Bethany with large disgust at making contact with his arm flesh. Freddy, still enjoying Cal's attention, slipped into the shotgun seat.
"Freddy, what the hell? Get out of the car and close the fucking garage door. Jesus." said Cal. The lummox looked less hurt than angry. His face grew redder and redder. Then the unthinkable happened. He talked back to Cal.
"Why do I have to...?" Freddy started. "Cal, knock it off. Make Charles do it." A feeling of fatal doom came over the car. Charles and the girls sat silently, waiting, but feeling like no matter what happened, they'd be scalded by the explosion.
"I'm sorry?" screamed Cal, now looking over at Freddy, in a high-pitched screech that raped their ears. "Are you talking back to me, you friendless piece of white shit? If I didn't allow you around you'd be back home catching your brothers' seed, you snot-crusted tard!" All grins gone now, Cal beat the steering wheel in time with his insults. First flinching, Freddy stopped at the incestuous accusation and balefully stared at Cal.
"What are you looking at you fuc..." A right cross to his jaw cut him off, causing his head to carom to the left and hit the side window. Judy screamed while Charles yelled a shocked, "Freddy!" Freddy looked back at the three, panting and huffing like a mad bull. He threw open the door and stomped out of the car and garage. Rapidly rolling down the window, Cal stuck his head out and called after the rampaging lout.
"Yeah, you go home and listen to Black Sabbath!" Cal yelled. Then he rolled up the window again.
Looking in the rear view mirror, Charles saw Freddy stop briefly. He didn't turn around though, and stalked off, muscles clenched and pumped, filling the mirror until he turned on the sidewalk and walked out of sight.
"Ow," said Cal, rubbing his cheek. "Ow, that sleaze can hit. Oh, ow. Fesus juck! Heh heh..." A red welt spread across his jaw. "He loves it. I love it," Cal said. He looked back at the three in the back seat, all wondering if they should leave.
"Ha! I'm the chauffeur!" Cal said as he started up the Buick with a tyrannosaurus roar. "Mit hell I drive to all of you! Har har har!" he said in his violently bad impersonation of Mrs. Kwiecinski. The car backed up and bucked violently as it hit the curb, turned in reverse, and tore up the street.
Ten minutes later, despite Cal's hellbent driving, the four teenagers remained alive and unarrested. Once again Freddy had come through with the booze, though he wouldn't get to enjoy it. A half-filled bottle of amaretto snatched from a friend's parents' liquor cabinet, barely enough to get a buzz, even on an empty stomach. Charles took sparing sips. Sitting at his right, Bethany grabbed the bottle away from him in disgust at his meekness, though he noted she never wiped off either the bottle's lip or her own before or after taking a sip. Judy politely said thanks but no thanks, though her hands were occupied with wrapping themselves lightly around Charles' left arm, which Charles didn't acknowledge for good or bad, not really knowing what to do about it. Looking over at Judy only made things uncomfortable as she gazed back, smiling with an earnestness that felt creepier than anything he'd seen the night before. Cal waved away the amaretto, "I'm driving, after all," he said in-between swigs of a vastly superior Irish whiskey—disguised in a Coke bottle—that he refused to share. "Germs," said Cal, swishing the contents about. "Don't steal mine."
Breaking free of the town involved racing down one of the two main drags, passing by fast food restaurants, pancake houses, a half dozen car repair and maintenance shops, a karate school, three grocery stores, and a dozen dozens of similar split levels, ranch houses, and bungalows. Charles never hated the town, but the sameness had lost its ordinary charm. What more can be explored here?, he thought. Judy nuzzled against him again, the smooth rise and fall and bumpity-bump of the car's ride across the road's asphalt and its hidden bumps and dips causing her hair to lightly brush his arm.
"You don't mind this?" she asked, briefly glancing down at where her hand met his arm.
"No, uh, not at all," said Charles. He was between contentment and excitement about it. Avoiding touch for so long, the girl's feather-like grasp alerted him to his own reality, not wandering in a dream, not a floating invisible eye. Flushing he felt the blood rush to his face and elsewhere. Bethany gave out a loud disgruntled huff, but Charles didn't especially care.
"I just like this," she replied, then looked out the window, sun bright and shining as they passed the city limits, onto a stretch of road surrounded by the forest preserves. Cal's face interrupted their reverie by craning his neck backwards when he should have been driving.
"How sweet. How refined," he said, assessing the scene. "Bethany, don't be selfish. Handle the dirty part while these two pitch syphilis-free woo." Freddy had marked him good, the red mark on his jaw now rising to a purple bump and welt the size of a quarter. Turning back, Cal reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a cassette, once white plastic but now covered with an ornate and obscene design rendered in black felt tip and titled "CORN WHOLE."
"Mood music," said Cal as the car made the swerve onto the northbound exit to Highway 57. "Take it! Take it all!" he cackled as he shoved the tape into the slot. Cal turned up the volume, filling the car—which smelled like Frank and attic air—with the loud buzz and shushing susurration of white noise. The car hopped up then down, causing a delicious rising feeling in Charles' abdomen and groin just as the first guitar chord blared from the front and back speakers. A glass knife blade stabbed Charles in both ears, then shattered and poured sharp hourglass grains into his skull, shredding whatever soft flesh that stood in its way. The chord was followed by the rapid strikings of a drum machine, and the hammer into metal clanging of an electric guitar. The guitar sounded ugly, tinny—a fleet of open scissors scraping point-first across a blackboard as wide as the sky.
"Yaaaaaahhhhh! Yahhhhhh!" Cal screamed, beating the steering wheel joyfully; now piling it on at 85 miles per, the car occasionally veered out of its lane as Cal ignored the necessities of driving, like a straight path or attention to the other cars. Horns blared along with the music as Cal swerved from lane to lane, and the car's tires thumped an accompaniment of percussive beats when the tires hit the rumble strip.
Judy no longer held onto Charlie's arm, leaping up to yell at Cal to stop as he came perilously close to a car, bridge, abutment, lamppost, whatever. Bethany predictably tore into a stream of obscenities directed at her brother who mad-laughingly brushed them aside, leaving Charles to jump into the passenger seat and grab the wheel, holding it stationary against Cal's pale strength.
"Spoilsport," said Cal over the music. "What do you think?" Turning the wheel was like wrestling a train for Charles, especially from his angle.
"Look straight ahead and drive the fucking car!" Cal reassumed command, still smiling. Sitting closer, Charles smelled the faint scent of cola and Scotch.
"Cal, you asshole! Turn the car around and go back home!" shrieked Bethany.
"Can't do it, can't do it, Beth old girl. We're educating Charles today. I'd hope you or Judy would have him out of his pants by now, but..."
"You're disgusting," yelled Judy over the guitar and firecracker banging of the drums. "You're just... You make me sick!"
"Not disgusting enough," shouted Cal. "Not as sick as I ought to be. What do you think, Charles?"
"About what!?!"
He looked at Charles with an expression that might have meant his feelings were hurt, if Cal had had any feelings to hurt, that is.
"Well, the tape..." he replied.”What do you think?"
Charles was barely paying attention, still thinking about Judy's cool and smooth arm and almost dying with her somewhere on the Dan Ryan, their dismembered limbs sweetly intertwined, his ongoing and final thoughts about Frank's mortifications. He looked at the tape deck. The squawking continued unabated. He felt something, but mostly it was an annoying squalor of sound, dog and cat bites on the eardrum, a pudding of gravel and bubbling tar. Whatever it was, it didn't sit well in his ear or stomach, especially when the screeches turned into growling guttural utterances.
"I don't know what that is," said Charles, now wishing he was in the back seat. Looking behind him, the comedy and tragedy masks of Judy and Bethany looked back. "More German bands? How many times can you listen to rusted sheet metal falling down the stairs?"
Cal clucked his tongue. "Charles, so full of judgments."
When, he wondered, was he full of judgments?
"Well, what is it? Another new band?" Fuck caring. He hated Cal's taste, and Cal his. Charles' latest interest was playing Lithuanian 78s at 16 rpm. He liked the sound murk it formed. He played them once and only once for Freddy and Cal, in the dark, in his room. "Ah, I think we're slipping into Charles' secret world," said Cal. He never bothered to share anything with the other two again, keeping his discoveries close to the chest. He was sick of defending everything and trying to keep up.
Now the morning was bright and summer was winding down. School would start soon, and Charles wasn't sure if he was feeling excited or fearful about that. Barely interested and sick of Cal's presence. Cal exited the highway, and he looked out the window, seeing low buildings and grassy abutments on either side rushing by. Carpet stores, rib shacks, power stations, water reclamation plants, junk yards, the Cal Sag Canal, billboards, all culminating in the sharp pins of Chicago's downtown, sky-scraping and sky-stabbing the fuck out of the clouds. Charles wanted to go there, not attracted by the city lights but by its bigness. So many unexplored coves and warrens in those steel canyons, he thought.
"Close," he said. Cal became cheerfully animated; appearing more cartoonish than usual, he gesticulated and looked back and forth between Charles and the road. "It's me." Cal appeared pleased with himself in a non-disgusting way
"You?"
"Well, I found this drum machine... Okay, I stole it from the guitar store... And a four-track recorder. Yeah, okay, I picked it up the same way," Cal chortled. "So, I got out my guitar and laid down a few tracks.
Bangity-bang-bang-bang-bang-bangity-bang-bang!" Drumming on the steering wheel again, the car shifted about once more. Judy squealed unhappily.
"Tracks? Of what?"
"Of what you're listening to. Don't be stupid."
"I still don't know what I'm listening too," said Charles crossly. "It just sounds like a lot of directionless noise to me."
And Cal didn't like that at all. No, not a bit. Still silently seething he punched the eject button, seized the tape, frantically rolled down the window, and heaved it outside. Leaving the window open the roar of the road overwhelmed the car, and a blast of heat burst in an roasted them all. Any cries to Cal to shut the window and let the air conditioning do its work were ignored.
Cal drove on noiselessly, manhandling the steering wheel down an exit to a street where the buildings were old, dirty, and frightening. Charles' familiarity with the city was limited to class trips and visits to his father's office. These journeys were always made by train or by leaving the driving in the hands of adults who understood the mysteries of the road and parking garages. Still simmering, Cal at least appeared to know where he was going, which made Charles wonder how often he'd come this way and how.
And there were black people. At least four, so far, walking the sidewalks and, he was sure, eyeballing their car.
"Charles is growing frightened," whispered Cal to no one, eyes still leveled ahead.
"What did you say, Cal?" said Bethany.
"Charles is growing frightened. Ever so frightened," said Cal, low and menacing. "The ebony city people will rush the car and wreak blood vengeance upon his flesh!" He revved the engine and piled down the street, blasting through a yellow light and muttering something about danger and the reaper mowing.
"Shut up, Cal," Charles said. "Where are you..."
"To Hell, Charles! To Hell! I've been trying to take you there forever, but you never want to go ANYWHERE!"
Slamming on the breaks and twisting right, Cal brought the car to a shrill halt between two cars. His parallel parking skills were magnificent. Quickly turning, he grabbed Charles' shoulders, and stared him in the face.
"Charles, Charles!" said Cal, eyes boggling. "Did Frank ever touch you in a bad place. Like, Schaumburg or Bolingbrook?"
Letting go, Cal kicked the car door open, and stepped onto the street, almost narrowly getting hit by a passing car. This near-killer of Cal bleated out a feeble horn protest and drove off, even as Cal flipped it off.
"Cal!" Charles yelled, pushing his way out of the car. Bethany and Judy followed.
But Cal wasn't listening. The car door slammed, and he ran off, toward a large tapestry-bricked church several yards away from the curb. The church was boarded up and marked off with yellow tape, orange pylons, and "STAY OUT" signs a dozen different ways. Cal dodged and weaved among the obstacles and headed for a small window on the hidden side, where he pulled away the board and slipped in.
"He's out of his mind..." said Judy.
Cal's blonde head peeked out the window.
"Charles, hurry!" he shouted,. "There are some lovely gentlemen in here who want to sell you beginner's heroin and prostitutes." Then he popped back in again.
Curiosity overcoming him and fear of the city fueling a desire to hide, Charles approached the window, hunkered down, and stepped through the window, left leg first.
"Careful!" Cal warned him. "There's still glass in the frame. Can't have Charles slashing open his femoral artery or tripping and opening up his skull to the world."
No, that's your job, thought Charles. Watching for glass and dangling a foot, he felt about for the floor, but his shoes found only more air.
"Oh, you don't want to stand there," said Cal. "One false move and you'll join the embryos buried in the basement."
Charles leaned in and looked down. The floor was a series of holes, broken tiles, and worn floorboard. Directly below the window he saw a rectangle of black space.
"God," said Charles.
"You'd think he'd take better care of his house, wouldn't you?" said Cal. then Cal did uncharacteristically stepped forward and offered assistance, touching Charles' arm.
"Big step, Charles. Big step," he said. Charles brought in his other leg, stretching over the gap as he leaned on Cal's bony shoulder. The girls soon came to the window and looked in. It was a dark little room, lit only by the sunlight that came through the cracks. The floor wasn't the worst of it. Wires dangled from a water-damaged drop ceiling, and the sections of wall that weren't missing—fist-sized holes punctured them at irregular intervals—were scrawled with graffiti accusing them of carnal relations with their mothers. Here and there were sections that once held posters or paintings, rectangular squares darker than the space around them. Hinges and fixtures showed where closets and hanging rods had hung. A foot-wide outline of a crucifix could be seen above a door on the other side, and in a weird show of respect this ghost image was left untouched. Bethany, slid in without help and, sharing her brother's fearlessness, explored her new surroundings.
"We're in the sacristy," said Cal looking around. "What took place here, I wonder? How many young souls were shown the true path to Christ at the tip of a..."
"Shut up, Cal" said Charles, turning to help. He still felt a tug whenever the Church was brought up, as if he owed it some kind of respect, even if it was growing harder to accept any of it at face value. He was an altar boy for a few weeks; and for a time he imagined it meant more to him than a few bucks earned at weddings. Now it was like kissing his grandmother when he saw her. He didn't want to do it, but he figured respect was still due.
"No, I don't think I will," said Cal. "I don't think I'll ever be shutting up in your head, even long after we never see each other again. Hey, look, a magic trick." Cal drew a long black metal flashlight from his coat pocket. "Come on, you're missing the best part," he said, waving them along.
The church sanctuary broke open before them as they passed through the sacristy door. It wasn't unlike entering a large cave, though a cave was unlikely to have an altar, broken stained glass windows, and a falling domino progression of pews. It wasn't large enough to be called a cathedral, but it was big enough to make them feel like they were in the earth's guts A collapsed part of the ceiling at the back offered the small comfort of a few shafts of sunlight through the raggedy gloom, but these were also reminders that they were in a building prone to collapse at any moment.
Cal stumbled in, long coat flapping and arms elongated into airplane wings. Vampire-like he spun about, thrown off-balance just a bit by the weight of the flashlight.
"Ever been in a dead church?" asked Cal. He started forward, not paying attention to where he was going and occasionally stumbling over a brick or piece of wood. Charles followed him, paying more attention to his path and imagining a tetanus-coated bit of glass or random rusty nail crucifying him to the floor. Yet though there was danger all around, a delightful sickness filled Charles' stomach and temples. It was, he had to admit, a pretty cool place to be.
"Back in the day, it was probably something to see," Cal continued, waving the flashlight around. "Now it's a beached whale picked clean by pelicans."
"You mean seagulls," said Judy. "Are we even supposed to be here? What if we get caught?"
"By who?" asked Cal, arching an eyebrow. "Sorry, whom?"
"I dunno," she replied a bit agitated. "The police? The people who own this place, the, what, I dunno, Vatican? It looks dangerous too. I don't wanna get buried alive."
Cal emitted a loud "pssh" sound, turned, and walked to the room's center, stopping to point at a wall. "Ignoring the crackhead tagging and general smashery, you can see the preservationists and antique dealers have been through here. They've popped out the stained glass and woodwork for years, but never bothered to go higher than a stepladder. See, they couldn't get all the good stuff." He pointed up with the flashlight. It was true. Atop each boarded up Gothic arch window was a small but intact biblical representation—a sheep carrying a banner, the 10 commandments, or a lesser prophet—in dingy colored glass. "And up there," Cal said, pointing upwards with the flashlight at the room's center. Now looking up, past eye level, Charles and the girls saw a new sky. Amidst thick and dark brown cross beams and across cracking plaster and paint, was a representation of the Assumption, the body of Mary carried up to Heaven by a legion of angels while God in Father, Son, and Holy Spirit form awaited her eagerly on their thrones. Neglected it still carried an awesome visual force.
"And what have we here?" Cal turned the flashlight down a ways to the bottom of the fresco. Beneath the flying angel pile was a raging serpent man, surrounded by skulls and flame, and crushed under multitudinous feet. His eyes bugged out, and his tongue jutted out to an obscene length.
"Doesn't seem like a fair fight," Cal said.
"It's Satan, dumbass," said Bethany.
"So?" answered Cal. "Does that justify monkey piling the guy?" Cal walked towards the altar, stopping beside the confessional booth at right, then trained the flashlight on a wooden angel statue set into the high wall.
"There you are... Charles, come help me."
"What do you want to do?" asked Charles. Bethany and Judy stayed where they were for a second or two before standing up a fallen bench so they'd have a place to sit. While inverting it they startled the creature living beneath it. It darted out of sight before being identified. Judy screamed and ran up to where Bethany stood, saying she didn't want to be there anymore.
"Over here. I need a ladder, up there on the confessional," Cal continued.
Charles looked around. "I don't see a ladder."
"You're especially dense today. We need to make a ladder or find something close to it." Cal looked around. "Come on, use those Troll-gained garbage-picking skills."
"We don't garbage-pick," said Charles with a touch of huffiness.
Cal stopped suddenly, peering into the dark. "Aha, I had a feeling we'd find one around." Cal went through a side door and emerged with a large wooden cross some seven feet long. He carried it over one shoulder.
"Well, nobody's going to help me carry this damn thing, eh?" said Cal, smiling. "Typical."
With a loud grunt and horrendous scraping of wood against cement, Cal dragged the cross over to the confessional. After leaning it against the booth, he motioned Charles over to hold it steady. Taking hold of the crossbeam, he pulled himself up to the top and threw himself over onto the confessional's roof where he made a discovery.
"Huh, a dime," he said. "God's out ten cents. And a superball." He picked up and then pocketed both items.
Cal stood up atop the booth and wiped the sweat from his white forehead, leaving an ashen smudge. He leaned over the side.
"Get up here, Charles," he said.
"Why?"
"Because you want to," Cal replied, looking up at the angel.
"No, I don't."
"Yes, you do. You'll thank me for this someday."
"I don't think so," said Charles, crossing his arms. But he partly did think so. He just didn't like Cal bullying him about it.
"Someday, Charles... Someday you're going to look back and think, 'Why the hell didn't I climb up on top of that confessional booth when Cal asked me to? Why didn't I..." Cal thought about it a moment. "No, you know what, you probably won't. This is a pretty lame thing to look back upon."
"Then get down, Cal."
"No, climbing a confessional booth is nothing to brag about," Cal reached down and seized the cross, pulling it upwards, but he wasn't strong enough to move it more than a foot. "But you want to do it, so why don't you? Besides, I've got something better in mind. C'mon, don't be a queef, Charles, climb up here."
Why not?
Before he could think of it, powered by Cal's words, Charles mounted the cross, shimmying up the center. Resting his feet on the crossbeam, he heaved himself up on the booth, then stood up, and looked around. The view wasn't less unpleasant, but it was a wider view. Bethany and Judy looked up at the boys with impatience.
"Cal, if you fall, I'm just going to leave you here," said Bethany. "I thought we were going to the record store."
Ignoring his sister, Cal pointed up at the angel with the flashlight again. "See, I think we can..." he began to say.
"Screw this, I'm going back to the car," said Bethany perturbed. She turned to leave.
"Bethany, get back here," Cal said, turning and sighing. "I'm not going to fall."
"Like I care. I just don't feel like dealing with Mom's bullshit if you die!" She shook her hands once quickly, as if trying to dry them off. "And I'm hot and there are rats and I feel disgustingly gross in here. What is it with you two assholes, anyway?" Judy stood nearby, arms folded over her chest, not sure if Bethany needed to be comforted or avoided.
"Two?" said Charles, genuinely shocked.
"You do all this stupid shit," she was looking up at both of them, her anger a white flame. "You collect garbage and hang out with that fat burnout and a creepy old man. What the fuck is wrong with you two?"
"Two?" Charles asked again, feeling exposed. Bethany and Judy looked back, no longer comedy and tragedy but rage and panic. Cal said nothing, impassively looking down at his sister.
"You don't even like each other!" Bethany screamed while pointing at Cal. "Fuck all, you aren't even proper fags!" She turned and started to leave the church again.
"Bethany, I swear to God, you better get back here," said Cal, loudly but low and level.
Bethany turned again. "Or what, Calvin? What the hell are you going to do?"
"I'm going to leave you with Mom," Cal said, crouching buzzard-like on the edge of the confessional. "I'm going to leave you with that waste of meat sooner than later, and I'm NOT going to take you with me."
"Fuck you, Cal!" Bethany said.
"No, Beth. Fuck you. You have no guts or vision or survival skills, and I guarantee that skell will have her hooks in you until you die if you piss me off. You know we've talked about this." Bethany's face dropped. For the first time in Charles memory the hate was drained from it. She looked like the 14-year-old girl she was, a sad and frightened one at that. Her eyes slitted again and she drew her mouth up into a snarl.
"You aren't going ANYWHERE, Calvin," Bethany shouted. "You think you're so cool, but no one likes you at school or anywhere else. Why do you think you get your ass kicked all the time?" Looking to one another, Judy and Charles wished they were someplace else, or perhaps side-by-side, in another room, where a family wasn't shredding itself. They looked at each other and everywhere for a means of escape, but none were to be had.
"Ooh, the other kids don't like me. My heart may break in six" said Cal, now standing up and clasping his chest with his hands. "Here, listen, Beth. I will leave in a few years, and I'll either take you with me, or I'll leave you behind, and you can play-play with crazy bitch's occasional boyfriend or spend all your time cleaning up her shit. If we're lucky, she'll die soon. If not, you're screwed for a very long time."
Cal stood back up and looked at the angel again.
"Nobody likes me. Nothing new there," said Cal over his shoulder. "But Bethany, I'm all you have. Sorry to tell you, you pissy, ungrateful little thing."
As Cal reached for the cross, Charles watched Bethany fold her arms over her chest, turn, and walk away. Judy approached and touched her shoulder, but she had none of that, throwing out a hand and pushing Judy away hard enough to make her stumble. Bethany looked past caring, dropping to sit on an overturned pew and bury her face in her hands. Charles thought he should probably say something. He started to speak, but Cal looked at him with an expression that said, Not a damn word.
"Charles, pick up your goddamn cross and join me."
Charles stretched down, and the strength of two skinny teenage boys combined to drag the cross upwards. Cal guided it toward the wall, right beneath the sculpture. Reaching into an inner coat pocket he withdrew a short crowbar and scampered up the cross till he was face to face with the angel.
"Hold it steady. I am here to do the Devil's work," Cal said, jimmying the bar into a space between angel and the wall. Time and rot were on his side, and the angel slowly separated from the beam it had occupied since before either boy's parents were born.
"Cal," said Charles, still holding the cross, which now rumbled and shook with Cal's exertions. "Cal, what do we do when it breaks off..." He was about to say "the wall," but the question was rendered moot as all 70 pounds of angel broke free and began an inglorious fall to the cement. Cal fell back and to the right as it came down even as Charles quickly turned and dropped six feet from the confessional booth. Landing on his feet and one hand, pain shot through his soles and palm. Though the pain stung and vibrated horribly, he knew he'd been very lucky and that nothing was broken. Judy stood farther back, having dashed away in time, covering her mouth in fear. Bethany, hadn't moved, at all, and looked at her brother with sick, tired eyes.
"Hoo hoo hooooo!" Cal laugh-shouted from atop the booth. "Hooooooo!" He swung over, lowered himself down, and inspected the angel. "Man, they knew how to build 'em in those days. Not a scratch! Okay, now we can go. Charles, grab a handful of cherub."
Following orders, Charles did just that. When Calvin succeeded it was intoxicating, as if it justified all the bad behavior and nasty words. Charles smiled.
"What the hell are you grinning about?" asked Cal, grinning widely. "Count of three. One, two...
"Nothing," said Charles as he hefted the angel up.
"Beth," said Cal. She looked up. "Car keys in my coat pocket. Grab them, please." Swept up, she did it without a word, then turned and ran back to the sacristy. "Pop the trunk!" shouted Cal. "Judy, go with her and make sure she doesn't fall through the floor. And give a yell if anyone's coming, especially cops, priests, or priest-cops!"
Judy popped after Bethany, leaving Cal and Charles walking face to face, carrying the angel between them.
"Heavy, ain't she?" Cal said. "But you seem stronger, Charles."
Charles only nodded. Secretly, he knew he'd become stronger over the summer. Looking down he saw hands and arms notched and hardened with a summer's work. When before had he ever felt comfortable in his own skin? When had he felt more alive; more like a person than a floating eye?
When they reached the sacristy window, Cal stepped out and Charles handed him the angel over the sill, then jumped out himself. Outside the sun beat down and the angel grew warmer in his hands.
"Woo. Just a minute, Charles. I need a break," said Cal, putting down his side. White hair and church dust sweat-plastered his forehead. When he brushed these aside, Charles could see Cal's old injury from the basement door. Cal was tuckered out, but Charles could have carried on, feeling as if he could walk the angel back home all by himself.
"What are y'all doing with that!?" asked a crackling yet firm voice.
There on the sidewalk, between the car and the church, stood an old woman, resting on a cane.
"Come again, ma'am?" asked Cal, turning on the charm that only worked if you didn't know him yet.
She approached more closely, but still stood back, aware that she was outnumbered, even if only by skinny young white boys. "I said, what y'all doing with that angel? That belongs in the church!"
Hot panic burned in Charles' gut. He looked to the car and saw Judy and Bethany's faces pressed up against the glass of the windows.
"Why, ma'am," said Cal, "We work for the church, praise Jesus."
"I went to this church 40 years, and I know I've never seen you here, young man," she replied.
"I was sitting behind you, ma'am," said Cal. "Quietly studying my Queen James Bible."
"Don't you blaspheme or get smart with me. Now I asked you a question. What are y'all doing with that angel?"
Looking to Charles, he nodded toward the car.
"I'm taking it home to my workshop, my dear. I'll fix it up there. Then I'll bring it back here," Cal said, smiling again. "Come along, Charles. There's stripping and varnishing to do in God's name." He leaned over and picked it up again. Charles did the same, very much wanting to leave. Now.
"I think you boys you better put that down and get out of here," said the woman. "Don't make me call the police on you." She still maintained a distance, but shook her cane for emphasis. "I see people going in and out of there all day and night. Taking what doesn't belong to them. Doing heaven knows what."
"Surely not things fit for angels' eyes, ma'am." Cal didn't miss a step, and he and Charles managed to lug the statue over and into the car trunk. "I think you should run along, ma'am, because you're interfering with the Lord's work. Can I hear a praise Judas, Charles!?"
"Um..." said Charles. Then he scrambled to the passenger door, opened it, and piled in. Judy and Bethany said nothing, still watching Cal out the rear window.
Slamming down the trunk, Cal turned and made sure the license plate was obscured. "Ma'am, I think we're done here," and with that he drew out the metal flashlight and smacked it into his other hand.
The old woman didn't seem afraid so much as annoyed and wary. She began to turn and walk away, saying aloud. "I'm calling the police. Don't you go nowhere!"
"I'll wait right here!" Cal shouted. "Can you please bring me a coke on your way back?"
Chuckling, Cal walked over to the driver's door and entered the car.
"What a delightful lady!' he said, revving up the car.
Cal drove away with a carload of shell-shocked passengers.
After repeated misdirection and an extra hour of driving time, Cal got them back to Frank's house. From down the block they saw him standing sentinel on the front step of his house, gripping the iron hand rail. He wasn't looking at them yet though, his eyes following a mint-colored Buick that had just driven halfway up the street before stopping and idling. Frank waved at it with a peculiar sort of hand sign, but as Cal pulled up to the driveway, the older man ran limped down to meet them with bulging eyes, tightened mouth, and a flailing, exotic bird dance of agitated arms and legs.
"Stop!" he yelled. "Stop stop stop!" Drumming his hands across the metal of the hood, he beat out an angry tattoo. Cal halted the car so it was parked diagonally, half on the driveway, the other half in the street.
Rolling down his window, Cal stuck out his head and said, "I can stop, Franklin, but I don't think the cops will like it."
"You..." Working up a rage was turning Frank into visible knots. "You park in the garage. Then we'll see what we'll do, you boys you."
Pressing the gas pedal, Cal brought the Buick to a roaring and screeching stop in the garage. "My, he actually can drive," thought Charles. Cal got out first with Charles close behind, meeting Frank in the open frame of the garage door.
"You, boys, you... You," Frank trembled, filled with anger but unused to publicly expressing it, his upbringing telling him that rage was left inside, to consume the stomach and the heart.
Cal exploded into laughter.
"What!? It is NOT funny, you... You..." said Frank.
"We boys we. You worry too much,"Cal replied patting the older man's hat.
"Give me the keys," Frank said. "Give me the keys now."
Cal shook his head and was about to say something smart and cutting, but something in the older man's eyes made him waver. Reaching into his coat pocket, he fiddled with the ring and detached the car key, withdrew it, and handed it to Frank. Grabbing it and stuffing it into his pocket, Frank looked over his thick glasses at both of them.
"You... You boys..." he said, still trembling. "You just make me TIRED." That epithet seemed to take it out of him, and he deflated to his regular size in the boys' eyes.
"Well, I've been saying you looked a little tired lately, Frank. Why don't you go back inside and diddle yourself to sleep?" Cal said. For a moment it looked like Frank was about to draw back and strike him, but it dissipated.
Feeling it was safe to emerge, the as-yet-invisible-to-Frank girls opened their car doors and stepped out slowly.
"Oh..." said Frank. "Hello. Oh."
"Hello," said Judy with a half-smile. "Please don't be mad." Bethany said nothing, merely offering Frank a slightly curled lip.
"Who?" said Frank pleadingly looking to Cal and Charles. "Who?"
After what Charles had seen the night before, he wasn't certain he wanted to interact with Frank, much less introduce him to any girls.
"I'm sorry, Frank, but we have to go," said Charles. Passing the older man he started down the drive, but it was several beats before he realized he was alone. He heard a car's engine rev, and he turned to see the mint-green car drive off.
Where did I...?
Frank coughed and phlegmed, and Charles saw him grasp his hat with one hand to tip it as Cal introduced him to Judy. She extended her cool, dry, insubstantial hand to Frank, who took it in his right palm while covering it with his left. Judy didn't show any discomfort about it, shyly smiling at Frank, who showed a renewed energy. Cal stood back, smiling wolfishly at the pair and gestured at the trunk of the car. Frank stopped gazing at Judy long enough to open it and reveal the angel. He stepped back in surprise, then began to quake, suddenly overcome by a paroxysms of tears. Drawn to the wooden angel, not one of them acknowledge Charles by that point.
Excepting Bethany. Bethany looked straight at him, then at Judy and Frank, then at Charles, on whom she fixed a squinted eye. She walked away from the trio, slowly ambling down to where Charles stood. The eye still squinted up from her sweet face and long dirty hair, up at the boy who was her brother's best friend.
Then she brought a knee up into his testicles, dropping him to the ground. The hard reality of the sidewalk and all the earth beneath it slammed into him at full force.
"Thanks for being such a good friend to my brother, asshole" Bethany said lifelessly as she walked away.
As the pain crept up from his groin and blossomed into his abdomen, Charles was fairly certain she no longer thought he was cute.