Michelle by telling them this.
“Any of you ever hear the song ‘Hard Knock Life’?”
Oscar, Sheila, and Kim nodded. The others stared at me blankly.
“Well, if you’ve heard it, that pretty much sums up my life in a nutshell. It’s a hard knock life.”
“Me and you both,” Sheila agreed. “Believe it.”
“Me too,” Kim said. Oscar nodded along with her.
Sheila I could understand, but I didn’t see it with Kim and Oscar.
“Sounds to me like you two got it made, going to college and shit.”
“You think my life doesn’t suck?” Kim snorted. “I mean sure, maybe I don’t have cancer. That’s horrible, and I’m sorry for you and your family. I really am. I still don’t understand why you did this, but I do feel sorry for you. But I’ve had my share of hard knocks too.”
“Me too,” Oscar said. “Guys like you and Sherm have picked on me and fucked with me since the first grade. I’ve never had a date. I spent prom night jerking off in my bedroom, looking at porn on the Net. How pathetic is that?”
A tear ran down his face as he continued.
“Just once I’d like to have a life. All I do is read and watch TV and play video games and go to school. I’d just like to have a normal life, with some friends, and maybe a girl who liked me and didn’t think I was weird or a geek. I don’t think that’s too much to ask.”
Kim’s expression was sad and knowing.
“I know how you feel.”
Oscar laughed, but the sound was cruel and bitter.
“How could you know how I feel? You’re beautiful. I bet you had a date to the prom.”
“You might be surprised, Oscar.”
“So then what do you want out of life, Kim?” I asked. “If you could have one thing?”
“Honestly? I just want to find a nice guy. That’s it, plain and simple. A nice guy that would listen to me and take an interest in what I have to say. One that likes my cat and did little things just to show he cared. That’s all it would take to make me happy.”
“I’d formally introduce you to John, but he’s out of it right now. Maybe when he wakes up. He’s a nice guy.”
I laughed a little too long and patted John’s hand gently.
“Tommy.” Roy’s voice was soft, and he spoke slowly.
“Yeah? What’s up, Roy?”
“Tommy—”
“What, Mr. Kirby?”
“Tommy— son, I think your friend is dead.”
FIFTEEN
That’s not funny, Roy. You better take that shit back right now.”
“John is dead, Tommy,” he repeated.
“Why you want to say some shit like that, man? Why you gotta fuck with me?”
I could hear the desperate tone in my voice, and I hated myself for it. I willed it to go away, but it increased instead as he tried again.
“He’s not breathing, Tommy. He hasn’t been for a while. I’m sorry, but it’s true. Your friend is gone. He’s dead. Look at him, son.”
“Shut the hell up, you old fart. Just shut the fuck up right now!”
“Tommy . . .”
“He’s not dead. You don’t know shit, man. You don’t fucking know, okay?”
“Look at him, Tommy!”
“No! Now knock it off.”
“Look at him.”
“I SAID NO!”
Without thinking about it, I swung the pistol out from me at arm’s length and pointed it at him. Gasping, they all scurried backward, trying to push themselves into the wall, trying to hide behind each other. Roy closed his eyes in fearful resignation. Kim whimpered. Sharon and Dugan cowered close together. Oscar let out a frightened squeal. Only Sheila held her ground. She bent her head and listened while Benjy whispered something in her ear. Then she looked up at me, her face serious.
“Tommy, Benjy says to check his pulse.”
“I don’t need to check his pulse. He’s alive.”
“He’s not breathing.” Roy tried again. “It’s over. How many more people have to die before you let us go, Tommy? Who’s going to be next? Me? Kim? The boy?”
“Don’t start with that shit! I told you to drop it!”
“His chest isn’t moving. What do you think that means, Tommy? That he’s sleeping? Of course not. He’s dead . . .”
Now Sheila interrupted Roy. “Shut up for a minute, Mr. Kirby. Tommy, please. Just do it.”
Before I could reply, a series of coughs rattled my chest. Bloody phlegm and spittle shot out of my mouth and onto John’s shirt, mixing with his own. It looked bright and fresh against his darker, dried stains.
“Tommy, check his pulse.”
I looked at the two of them, mother and son. They seemed so sure, so urgent.
“Please, Mr. Tommy,” Benjy pleaded. “He doesn’t have much longer until he goes to see Jesus. The light is coming. It’s just a little pinprick right now, but it’s getting bigger.”
Something in Benjy’s voice, an honesty that only a child could convey, forced me to calm down. If you have kids, then you know what I’m talking about. I looked into those big, innocent, brown eyes— eyes that should have been home watching cartoons instead of being held hostage in a bank vault, and my heart shattered.
John’s chest wasn’t moving beneath my hand. It probably hadn’t been for a while. I just hadn’t noticed.
“He’s my best friend,” I sobbed. “We grew up together, goddamn it. I’ve known him since we were little kids. It isn’t fair for him to end up like this. It wasn’t supposed to happen this way. I always watched his back, kept him out of trouble. And look what I did to him now . . .”
Using his feet, Benjy pushed away from Sheila and scooted across the floor toward me.
“He’s not dead yet, Mr. Tommy.”
Hunched over, I pressed my lips to John’s cold forehead— and froze. A soft puff of air, so slight that I almost missed it, escaped his lips. Quickly, I put my fingers to his throat.
“He’s breathing. Barely . . . but there’s no heartbeat. He’s still breathing but I can’t find a pulse.”
I felt a weak flutter beneath my fingertips, then nothing. I checked again for another breath, but all that came out of his gaping mouth was a small trickle of blood.
“Oh Christ! Come on, John— breathe.” I pounded on his chest in frustration. “Breathe man.”
“Mr. Tommy, I can help him, but we have to do it now. He’s almost to Jesus. He’s on his way, now. The light is getting brighter.”
He’s on his way now! Look out! Jesus H. Christ, here he comes! Coming at an alarming rate!
“Mr. Tommy!”
I shook my head, trying to clear it.
“I can’t, Benjy. If Sherm comes back in here and finds your hands untied . . .”
“Then you’ve got to stall him,” Sheila insisted. “Benjy only needs a minute or two.”
“She’s right, Tommy,” Roy said. “We’ve all heard what the child can do. I’ve felt it myself, and I know that you saw it. You believe, whether you want to admit it or not. And even if you don’t, isn’t your friend’s life worth the chance?”
John’s face was completely drained of color. His skin looked like snow. Snow . . .
One winter, when we were about ten years old, school got canceled one day because of a snowstorm the
