Family Thang

resting on his ankles; hands flat on the floor; head scrunched down to keep from showing above the headrest. And he now needed to pee.

A few minutes later a foul odor drifted behind the couch. Hog maw? Sure smelled like it.

Eric heard snoring. The man sleeping! Eric raised his head to take a peek.

If he could have seen himself, he would have viewed a sweaty forehead slowly rising above the headrest, followed by bucked eyes flitting in every direction, and finally a mouth, opened wide, the bottom lip quivering. The smell much stronger now, he locked onto the source… feet…

…funky feet!

Eric stared at the man’s washboard stomach and massive chest. Though asleep, the man’s muscles were taut, twitching. Eric chanced a look into the man’s face: brown-skinned, square chin, broad nose and an inch-long scar below the right eye.

The man’s mouth fell open, and Eric gulped.

Silver teeth! Upper and lowers, all silver.

Why would someone have all their teeth silver?

To bite the shit outta somebody and never let go.

A moment Eric thought to huddle behind the couch and remain there till eternity. No, uh-uh, he had to get out. How?

The man stopped snoring, raised his legs to a bent position, coughed and continued snoring.

Eric resumed breathing. Jesus, pull me out of this one I’ll join church. Visit old folks at the nursing home. Donate money to those pitiful-looking puppies on TV.

Jesus, just get me out of here!

He waited for a miracle; none came. Only one option available: he had to clear the couch without waking the man. He waited a few minutes more before standing up and carefully hoisting his right leg over the man to the front of the couch. Damn! Should have gone with the left first, he thought, more strength in the right.

Dammit! He inhaled, held it and hopped off his left foot… A perfect maneuver… He was clearing the couch, the man… and then his right foot landed on something other than the floor.

A damn shoe!

His ankle twisted and he fell backward. Oh shit! He landed on his back on the couch, legs akimbo, his groin only a few inches from the man’s feet.

Again the man stopped snoring, and Eric watched the man’s chest stop rising and falling as well. Is he dead? The snoring restarted and the man crossed his right leg over the left and rested his feet squarely in Eric’s crotch. Rivulets of sweat dripped down Eric’s face and the stench of the man’s feet almost made him hurl.

A monk, he promised. If Jesus got him out of this, he would become a monk. Promise! On my dead momma’s grave! The man rubbed his nose and dug his feet deeper into Eric’s crotch, pressing his genitals in a most painful manner.

Certain he would lose his most vital organ, Eric grabbed a throw pillow, lifted the man legs, extricated himself gently but quickly and lowered the man’s feet onto the pillow. He tiptoed to the door, eased the chain free and quietly unlocked the deadbolt.

Free at last, thank God almighty, free at last!

He opened the door. If the man awoke now, no chance could he catch him. Not in a million years.

Eric stuck out his tongue at him and whispered, “You better lay off the steroids, mercury mouth. They’ll give you titties, shrink your stones.” When he turned to leave, a woman appeared in the doorway.

“Who the hell are you?” she said. Eric tried to push past her, but couldn’t get around her wide body. “Who the hell are you?”

Eric tried again to push past her, and she knocked him back with her substantial stomach.

“Walter!” the woman screamed. “Walter!”

Eric saw the man getting up from the couch. No time for bullshit now! He faked toward the woman’s right, then broke through on her left. On the porch, gearing up for top speed, he felt hands grab his wrist, pulling him.

“Walter! Walter! Walter!” She held on tight. Eric jerked hard; the woman’s grip loosened. He jerked again, pulling free momentarily… The woman caught hold of the sleeve to his favorite shirt, a gold silk Sean Jean that Shirley had bought him for Father’s Day. The shirt slid down his shoulder… She was pulling it right off his back.

“Walter!”

Eric pulled the woman into the front yard. “Lemme go, lady! Lemme go!” He grabbed her wrist to prevent her pulling his shirt off. “Let… me… go!”

The woman fell on her butt, using her weight for leverage, almost pulling him down with her. “Walter! Walter! Walter!”

Where the hell Walter?

Eric dragged the woman halfway across the yard, almost to the sidewalk. He heard a ripping sound and saw his shirt tearing at the shoulder seam. He made a fist with his free hand and waved it in her face.

“Let go! Or I’ll knock the shit out of you!” She didn’t. He reared back… and saw Walter running out of the house, looking distressed, a shotgun in his hands. He stopped a few feet short and aimed the shotgun at Eric’s head.

“Stand clear, Colleen!” Walter yelled. “I got him!”

Immediately the woman let go and rolled away. Eric stood there, paralytic, apoplectic, his only thought on two black holes. When something came out of those holes, his life would be officially over.

Kabooom! The noise was deafening.

“Run!” a voice yelled. “Run!” Am I in heaven? “Run!” He opened his eyes… Linda was on the man’s back, covering his eyes with her hands. “Run, Forest, run!”

Who the fuck is Forest?

“Run, fool!”

So he did, faster than he’d ever run in his life. He continued running, through the neighborhood, into the woods, along the highway, through more woods, down a dirt road, and finally up four steps and into a mobile home.

Inside he fell to his knees, huffing and puffing, vaguely aware Darlene, sitting on the couch, and Paul and one of his friends, lying on the floor in front of the television, were staring at him.

“Who’s he?” Paul’s friend asked.

“My daddy.”

Eric fell face first to the floor.

“Is he al’ight?”

“Daddy, you al’ight?”

Eric raised his head from the floor and sputtered, “Where’s… your… momma?” Then he vomited and dropped his head into the mess.

“He’s al’ight,” Paul said. “He’s al’ight.”

Chapter 35

Leonard watched people get on the Greyhound bus. All he had to do was get out of the car and get on that bus. To hell where it was going, just get on it and go, leave all his headaches and worries behind in this chickenshit town.

Dawson, Arkansas, wasn’t big enough for Greyhound to station a hub; only a small sign of a greyhound hanging on a stanchion outside of Quik-Print.

The car, Leonard thought. I can’t leave it here and get on the bus. I’ll have to return it to the rental company in El Dorado. The bus departed. He sat in the car for a few more minutes before