Jerry's face was warm. God! What a conversation! His throat always constricted and made it difficult to talk to Chrissie.
'You two wanna order?' the middle-aged guy behind the counter asked. He had a puffy face and obviously dyed black hair combed forward in bangs to conceal a receding hairline.
'We're not together,' Chrissie said.
She ordered a double hamburger, fries, and a diet Coke, then laid out the bills and exact change on the stainless-steel counter.
'You're number one-ten,' the counterman said. He scooped the money from the counter and placed it where it belonged in the cash register.
Chrissie got her receipt and moved well to the side. Jerry followed. They were near a window and far enough away from the order line and tables that they wouldn't be overheard if they kept their voices low.
'I mean, really,' Jerry said again.
'We both know you're a sicko, Jerry. A voyeur. That's somebody who watches people while they do it.'
A hot coal of embarrassment began to burn in his stomach.
He felt like turning and walking away, but he didn't.
He glared at Chrissie. 'You watch what happens to Tiffany and don't do anything to stop it. Then you get your bare ass whipped and like it, and you call me a sicko?'
Oh, he could talk to her now. His anger made it possible.
And it felt good.
Chrissie looked astounded. 'Like it? You actually think I like it? And you obviously like to watch it. That just shows what a sicko you are.'
'But you know I'm watching.'
'What's that supposed to mean? We always leave the window raised a little so there's air circulation. It'd look funny if we closed it all the way.'
'Chrissie-'
'One ten!' proclaimed a voice behind the counter.
Chrissie moved away from Jerry, picked up a white paper sack and plastic-lidded cup from the counter, and stalked from the restaurant.
Jerry stood fuming. The guy behind the counter grinned at him and shrugged, as if to say, 'Women.'
Jerry burst from the restaurant.
Women!
Women! Women!
By the time he reached his mother's car, Chrissie was already driving the gray minivan from the lot. Its tires squealed as she made a right turn on the county road.
Jerry stood and watched the boxy vehicle speed away.
Fine! Does she think I might follow her?
He lowered himself into the Chevy and started the engine. As he looked up he saw the maroon pickup truck cruise past again. The girl in the cab with Adam was plainly visible this time, and didn't look anything like either Tiffany or Chrissie.
Jerry wondered if he'd been expecting to see one of the twins in the truck with Adam, expecting it to be Chrissie. Was his mind playing tricks? Was he nuts? A sicko, like Chrissie said?
The glowing coal in his gut burst into flame. He almost bent the ignition key starting the car's engine. Women! He slammed the shift lever into drive and floored the accelerator, burning rubber as the big car squealed from its parking space. Jerry barely missed hitting a blue and cream Chrysler, gleaming like an Easter egg. Horns blared at him as he turned left on the street bordering the parking lot.
He ran a stop sign, his foot still mashing down on the accelerator. Wind swirled in the car, ruffling his hair and cooling his perspiring face, promising freedom. Speed was an intoxicant. If he could drive fast enough, far enough, he might outrun his troubles.
A lineup of low buildings, then Munger's Hardware and the gas station, flashed past, and he was out of the business area.
The road leveled out before his headlight beams, inviting speed. Jerry accepted the invitation, feeling the car sway as he steered it through a series of gentle curves.
There was a jolt as the right front wheel jumped the pavement and sank into the soft shoulder, causing the steering wheel to spin and almost break Jerry's thumb. He tried to stamp on the brake pedal, but he was bouncing around so much in his seat that he missed it and the car picked up speed.
The right fender scraped a tree with a harsh metallic sound, slowing the car not at all. Jerry's foot found the brake pedal, and he mashed down on it so hard that he pushed himself back into the upholstery. There was a series of hard jolts, and a tire must have gone flat. Jerry could hear rubber beating and flapping around like crazy in the wheel well. The car fishtailed and nosed down sharply as it lost speed. The steering wheel was like a trapped thing trying to slip from his grasp, fighting him as he tried to control it.
Then it stopped fighting.
Everything stopped.
Remained still.
The car's right front was lodged in the ditch running parallel to the street. The engine was dead. Jerry could hear crickets ratcheting nearby.
He got the door open even though it stuck for a few seconds and made a loud metallic ponk! Pushing hard on the door, he climbed out into the suddenly motionless world. His thoughts were still speeding, still a jumble. He stood dizzily and was afraid he might fall, so he extended his left arm and his hand found the car's smooth metal roof. He leaned on it, not hard, just enough to steady himself.
Jerry looked back and saw that the tree he'd thought he scraped was actually a metal mailbox on a wooden post. Post and mailbox lay on the grass.
Someone's lawn…
It was beginning to sink in to Jerry that he was in real trouble.
The porch light came on at the nearest house. A dog, off in the distance, began a high, insistent barking.
A man with a flashlight came out of the house with the porch light and walked toward Jerry.
In the opposite direction, down the street, a car rounded the corner and came toward the accident scene. Red and blue lights on its roof began to flash.
Jerry felt his heart rise to his throat and expand.
The man with the flashlight was close now. He walked gingerly, as if his feet hurt, and was wearing wrinkled pants, a baby blue pajama top buttoned crookedly, and blue corduroy slippers. He was old and had a gray buzz cut.
He looked at Jerry and didn't seem mad. In fact, he seemed to sympathize with Jerry.
'You got somebody you can call?' he asked.
'I guess my mother.'
'A boy's best friend,' the man said.
'Goddamn you, Jerry!'
The leather belt cut through the air and bit into his bare buttocks. His mother grunted like an animal with the effort of swinging her arm. She was so furious she was almost sobbing.
'Goddamn you! You know I need that car for work! Goddamn you!'
The belt whirred through the air again and raised a welt on the back of his right thigh. He looked back and saw tears tracking down his mother's face. 'What did you think you were doing? Goddamn you!' Another half grunt, half sob. He could smell the gin sweet on her breath.
He heard the swish of the belt again.
Jerry gritted his teeth and endured the pain. He tried to move away from it inside his mind, letting it happen to someone else. He wished he could be a different Jerry standing way off to the side and observing. It wasn't that his mother didn't love him. She was angry and had every right to be, and she'd been drinking.
This was his fault. Whatever punishment he got, he deserved.
