Crazy for the Storm

No, I said.

He rocked forward and rose out of the chair in one motion. He took a swig of the wine.

Chi-cow-ski!

I ran back to Sunny and slid down behind her. Nick moved Sunny over and straddled me, fastening down my shoulders, and Sunny squirmed on her back and licked his arm and my face. Nick forked his fingers like a mad piano player and jabbed my chest.

Dum dum dum dummm, he sang, his wine-breath making me gag, and I turned my head.

His knees pinched my arm skin and his fingers rammed my chestbone and ribs.

Dum dum dum dummm! Chicowski plays until you promise to change the channel, he said.

Mom, I can’t breathe. Tell him to stop!

Nick. He can’t breathe. Stop.

Repeat after me, said Nick, still playing.

Okay. Okay.

I will never defy Nick again.

I will never defy Nick again, I said.

He drew his upper body back and his wrists went limp and he stared off into the distance.

Get off so I can change the channel, I said.

Nick looked down over his nose and his eyes focused far beyond as if some apparition could be seen deep in the rug. I wasn’t going to wait for him to get up and I twisted away. My shorts slid off my waist and my raspberried hip caught his attention. His eyes flared open.

I quickly pulled up my shorts, avoiding eye contact, and turned the channel to the Watergate special.

There, I said. Should I do the dishes?

Well that’s nice of you, Norman, said my mom.

Then you guys can watch the special, I said.

Nick was still on his knees, arms hanging down, head tilted forward. He didn’t turn or move or speak. All I saw was his back inhaling and exhaling. I went to the kitchen and began soaping the dishes. I could hear Nixon and the other bad guys denying they had anything to do with the break-in. Suddenly Nick’s voice cut through the TV noise—skateboarding was the only word that was clear. Then I heard the investigators talking about what was really going on in the White House at the time—the cover-up. Nick didn’t call me into the living room and his voice never cut through the sound of the TV again so I figured I was okay. By the end of the dishes Nixon was giving his Checkers speech and some secret tapes were playing.

Nick lit up a joint and stared at the TV screen with hatred. He took off his shirt. I walked in front of the screen. Watergate Watergate blah blah blah, I said. I’m so sick of Watergate.

Nick blinked as if trying to focus on my foreground image.

You have no fucking idea, he said.

About what? I said.

He rocked out of the chair, suddenly enraged. You know why you of all people need to watch this?

My face was even with his bare stomach. The air in the room had changed. It closed in all around me.

I’m going to bed, I said.

As I turned he grabbed my arm and his fingers dug into my bone.

Ouch! I said. You’re hurting me.

Damn fucking right. Now answer the question.

What’s the question?

Why do you of all people need to be watching the downfall of the president of the United States?

I already watched it a couple years ago, I said.

Well you need to watch it again. Do you know why?

No, I said.

Did you hear that, Jan? I bet you don’t know why either.

My mom was putting away the chicken. She walked under the archway between the kitchen and the living room and stopped.

Don’t know what? she said.

Pay fucking attention. That’s the problem. You never pay attention.

My mom put a hand on her hip and looked at Nick. She lifted her eyebrows and sighed. His fingers bore deeper into my bone and the pain made me cry out.

Let go of him, said my mom.

You’d like that, wouldn’t you? But you know why I can’t? he said, seemingly to both of us.

Why? she said, rolling her eyes.

Because if I let him go now he’ll end up like Nixon.

Oh come on, said my mom. What the hell are you going on about?

He’s a liar!

I didn’t see him skateboarding, she said. Did you?

So you believe him?

She looked at me and I tried to warn her with my eyes but I was still cringing from the pain in my arm.

Yes, she said.

Nick ripped down my pants and the waistline tore the scab and fresh blood percolated to the surface of my wound.

What about this? said Nick, pointing at my raspberry.

Oh God, said my mom. Where did you get that?

I wanted to be on her side. I wanted her to win.

I got it when I slipped in the canyon, I said.

Bullshit, said Nick. Look at the blacktop around the edges.

That’s dirt, I said.

Nick rubbed his fingers over the black smudges. Ouch, I said.

Stop that, Nick, said my mom.

He held up his fingers.

It ain’t dirt.

Yes it is, I said.

Nick pointed at the TV. You sound just like Nixon, he said. It comes so naturally.

I recalled Nixon’s voice, cracked and high-pitched during his Checkers speech. Nixon had a fake smile. A warped frown. No one on the beach liked him. My dad grunted and cast him off with the wave of his hand—not even worth talking about.

Then Nick let go of my arm and I ran into the kitchen.

Come back here, he yelled.

Leave him alone, said my mom.

Get your ass back here, said Nick.

I ducked into the bathroom and peed into the toilet. I heard Nick arguing with my mom about me forgetting to take out the trash cans again, for the second week in a row. It was proof, he said, that Norman believes the world revolves around him.

I came out of the bathroom and my mom was face to face with Nick.

You’re overreacting, she said to his perspiring face.

Horseshit, he said and marched past her and into the bathroom and I knew I was busted before he even said it.

He forgot to flush the goddamn toilet again, barked Nick. This is at least the tenth time, Jan.

Nick stepped out of the bathroom and called me over. You need to clean the toilet bowl. That’s the only way you’re going to learn.

My mom stepped between him and me.

Get the fuck out of the way, said Nick, his eyes cutting hard down at my mom. She shook her head, making a