The late afternoon sun filled the sky with an orangey glow that perfectly fit the fall season. Trees on either side of the road were turning colors, making death seem pretty in a way. People sometimes try to find the beauty in sad things, and I guess we don't think it's sad that the leaves are dying, because it's not us dying. We're a pretty self-absorbed race. We passed a state road sign that used to say 'Serenity Falls'; it had been vandalized to say 'Serenity Fails'.
Well, that seemed like a warning.
Not much farther along we passed another sign for the town, but this one wasn't the state sign; it looked like wood with gold leaf for the lettering, and there were flowers planted all around the base. It looked weathered, and the flowers were spaced out oddly, like things had died, but it still looked nicer than the green and white state signs.
Depressing little houses started to appear, and of course there was one of those dollar stores, but an off-brand one. Like...this town didn't even have a chain dollar store. We passed a pair of gas station convenience stores; one of them was out of business. One blinking traffic light later we were into an old downtown area that could have come straight from a YouTube video on dying towns. Most buildings were brick, some of them kind of architecturally interesting, but many were just vacant storefronts. Lights were on in some of the upper floors, likely where there were apartments.
“Looks like this is the place,” my mom said, pulling over to the curb.
“Where are we, even?” I asked, looking around. The only thing that seemed to be open was a hardware store with a plate glass window and faded gold lettering that announced it was Dinwiddie Hardware.
“Freida said to talk to a woman named Sandy,” my mom said. “I'm going to have a smoke. Would you go in and let them know we're here?”
I sighed. I hated cigarette smoke, and I hated that she smoked. I'm not a health nut. It's just...bad associations with the smell, I guess. I could remind her of that or tell her to go inside and talk to this Sandy instead of pounding a coffin nail. Instead I just said, “Okay.”
I climbed from the car and took a second to stretch. I glanced up and down the main street, such as it was, and waited for a truck to go by before crossing. I swear there was an actual bell that tinkled as I opened the door. The first thing that hit me was the smell. It was like...sawdust and oil and maybe deodorant. It wasn't bad, exactly, but it was distinctive. The floor was narrow wooden slats that creaked as I walked toward the counter where an old guy with a work tee shirt and suspenders stood, hands curled on the counter top like a silverback gorilla ready to challenge someone.
The bell chimed behind me, and I glanced back reflexively. I nearly came out of my skin as the silverback yelled.
“Nope! Get the fuck out!”
I looked at the worker and then back to the door. He didn't mean me, did he? I wondered wildly. Just inside the doorway were two men – one wearing a red hat with a 47 on the front and another wearing a black shirt and a priest's collar.
“Don't be a prick!” red hat snapped.
Silverback shook his head. “No. Leave. We don't serve your kind here.”
Red hat held his hands out. “That's discrimination! I just need-”
“And you can get what you need somewhere else. I don't care if you have it mailed in.” He crossed his arms. “Get the fuck out. Now.”
The priest had reached me and touched my shoulder gently, kind of hinting I should not be standing between the silverback and the red hat. Maybe they'd start shooting or something – seemed like that kind of place. My chest felt tight, and my throat felt like it was getting smaller.
Red hat pulled the cap off and slapped it against his leg. “God damn it! It's the end of the day! I only need-”
“This is me not giving a shit,” silverback said. “Now turn your Nazi ass around and get out.”
Red had slapped the cap back into place. “I'll be glad when that box store gets built and puts you out of business!” he snapped and jerked the door open.
“Maybe they'll hire you part-time so you stay poor and stupid and get no benefits!” silverback called out, but the door was already closing.
“Don't worry,” the priest said with a smile. “You just walked in at a bad time.”
I accompanied him to the counter and nodded to the guy I was thinking of as a gorilla; he was certainly not afraid to challenge someone. Feeling very nervous, probably my anxiety flaring up from that scene, I sputtered, “Friend of yours?”
He snorted and rolled his lip up a bit. “Customer once upon a time. But at some point you need standards. All money is green, but I don't like the ones that come with a side of hate.”
I glanced back at the door again and back to him. “Um.”
Silverback smiled a little, though it wasn't a warm smile at all. “It's like this. One Nazi comes in and is polite and nice. Spends some money. You think 'Not so bad, and their money spends.' Then they come with a friend and they're okay. Slowly your old clientele stops coming in, and you have a store full of Nazis. Some things you have to nip in the bud.”
I swallowed and nodded, looking from him to the priest and back.
The priest looked to silverback. “We're having a pancake breakfast on the 14th. Is it all right if I put a flyer by the door?”
Silver back looked at him for a moment. “Do I have to go?”
The priest smiled. “No.”
“Oh. Sure, go ahead then.”
Nervously I said, “Must not be a Nazi, huh father?” The words were out of my mouth, and I was feeling like an enormous asshole. Why, oh why, did I say that?
“Nah. He's not malignant,” silverback said with a little grin.
“So kind of you,” the priest said before looking at me. “If it were a fundraiser for the church, he'd say no. But the breakfast is merely about community, and he's all right with that.”
“Don't say what I'm all right with,” silverback grumbled. “Starting rumors. Anyway. Help you, kid?”
My anxiety was through the roof, and I know I heard a tremor in my voice when I spoke. “Um. Uh, yeah. Sir. Um, I was supposed to ask for Sandy?”
Silverback looked over his shoulder without really taking his eyes off me. “Hey! Whiz Bang! You got a gentleman caller up here! Kind of cradle robbing, if you ask me.”
“Oh, shut up!” came a woman's voice. She sounded a little like my mom but had a way more advanced case of smoker's voice. When she appeared, she looked younger than I'd have thought, given her voice, but then maybe she smoked more than my mom.
“What can I do for you, Sunshine?” she asked.
“Careful,” silverback warned. “She's one of them water buffalo.”
She laughed, a scratchy, smoker's laugh. “A what? You're the hairy bastard between us!”
“Have you checked your upper lip?”
“I'll give you a fat lip, you keep your shit up,” she told him before looking back to me. “Ignore him. He thinks he owns the place.”
“I do in fact own the place.”
She leaned forward and stage whispered, “He thinks it makes him important.”
“I...hate to interrupt, but...a water buffalo?” the priest asked.
“You know. One of those old women that chase young men,” silverback said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
“I don't think that's the term, and will you stop? How will I get a chance with this boy if you scare him off?” Sandy said and laughed a dry, smoker's laugh.
“Um. Cougar,” I said. I closed my eyes. Dad would have told me that I just never know when to shut up.
“Nah. She's more like a Bobcat.”
I opened my eyes.
“A Bobcat?” the priest asked.
“What's wrong with you? No, wait, don't answer that!” Sandy said, laughing again. Her laugh was almost painful, like dry shreds of paper rubbing against each other.
“Well, a Cougar was kind of a muscle car, you know? Desirable. The Bobcat was this tarted up Pinto, and you know how they explode.” Silverback looked to Sandy. “You're not going to make the kid explode, are you?”
“I'll be a Bobcat, and you be a jackass,” Sandy told him and looked to me. “Now what can I do for you?”
I looked between the three of them, the priest having somehow not run off, and settled my gaze on her. “Uh. My mom and I are renting an apartment? Freida told us to ask for you.” And please, nobody make any more jokes about this woman trying to get with me? Please?
Something shifted in her face, and I knew she knew. “You bet, Sunshine. I'll grab the keys and meet you out front, okay?”
I nodded and glanced at the other two before retreating back out the door. These people are crazy, I thought as I crossed the street.
“Did you talk to her?” Mom asked, dropping her cig and stepping on it.
“Yeah. She's coming out with the keys.”
“I was just looking around. Nice little town, huh? Not a lot of traffic.”
Far away from my father. “Yeah.” I glanced in the car at my headphones. They'd died a while ago; I wished I could put them on and tune out whatever this was right now. I heard the bell from the door, and Sandy stepped out, glanced at us and waved. We crossed the street to meet her, and she put her hand out to my mom.
“You must be Andrea,” she said. “I'm Sandy.” She looked to me. “You never did mention your name, Sunshine.”
“What? Oh. My bad. It's Harvey.”
“Classic name for a classy young man,” she said with a smile that showed her cigarette-stained teeth. She turned to my mom. “Frieda is such a sweetheart. Let me take you to the apartment – you must be exhausted.” As we followed her to the corner of the building and around the side, she talked about a pizza place in town that was pretty good, but that we'd have to leave town to do any serious grocery shopping. She invited us to have deliveries made to the store so we didn't have to hand out an address – just have things sent to her attention, even regular mail. “Can't be too careful,” she said.
She turned and put the key into the lock of a door set into the side of the building a bit past the end of the hardware store, gave it a push and told us it stuck a little, and then we followed her up narrow wooden stairs to a hallway with three regular doors with deadbolts and one set of folding doors on the other wall. She led us to the end of the hall, put another key in the lock, and let us into a small apartment.
We're not rich. We never were. Our house was nice, but that was because that's how my father wanted it. Clean. Everything in its place. We bought things once, and he bought quality, and God help you if you fucked any of it up, because no man would. Not when my father wanted to 'make his point'.
This apartment was nothing like that. The floor was plastic tiles, and the couch had seen better days. The popcorn ceiling had a few cobwebs and was kind of dusty; that made my eyes itch, because I was afraid I'd be told it wasn't clean, and my father would have to 'make a point' to show me. Sandy prattled on, showing us the small kitchen area with laminated counter tops and a small electric stove. The fridge was apartment-sized, but there were just the two of us, so that was fine.
The bathroom was small, with a stand up shower, and the bedrooms were also small, with neither really any bigger than the other. One had a full mattress and the other a twin, so I knew where I'd be sleeping - not that it mattered.
“Well, it's home,” Sandy said, adding her smoker's laugh. She took my mom's hand in hers. “You're going to be safe here. Hav seems like a bear – and he can be – but he will keep you safe, too.”
“Who's that?” I asked reflexively.
Sandy looked toward me. “That big guy behind the counter? He's the store owner; he owns the whole building and rents these apartments. His first name is Haviland, so we call him Hav.” Her face brightened. “Hav and Harv!”
I looked away with intentional disinterest. I'm not a huge fan of my name, and while my father didn't like anyone shortening it, I actually didn't either. Sandy finally left us alone, and I walked to the window that looked out at a parking lot behind, I assumed, the hardware store. There was a pickup truck and a flatbed, maybe for delivering lumber or drywall, and a forklift.
“So. How are we paying for this place?” I asked absently.
“Freida's group made an arrangement for the first three months. It'll give me time to catch my breath and get on my feet,” Mom replied. “I guess we should get our things, huh? Maybe we can try that pizza place. What do you think?”
I stayed silent, looking out the window for a moment longer. I had no real thoughts one way or the other, but I was a little hungry.
“Harvey?”
“Yeah, Mom. I'll get our things.”
Mom came with me, and we made a few trips back up to the little apartment. I liked that you couldn't see it right away from the street, but I didn't like that it looked like there was only one way up; that meant there was only one way out, and what if it was blocked? I kicked that around a minute and then figured there must be another way – what if there was a fire?
We spent a little time putting our clothes away and the few things we'd brought with us. Not only was there no time, but there hadn't been much room in the little sedan. It was hard to really feel settled, and that was only partly from it being a new space. After our beds were made, we decided we'd go get some pizza to bring back. Then my mom's anxiety kicked in, and she asked me to go get the pizza and stop at the hardware store for some cleaning supplies.
I understood. I think a lot of people would be okay with the place as it was, but we'd been trained differently. Even though my father wasn't here to make any points, we knew what they all were. The pizza place was about a mile away, so I plugged my headphones in to charge then drove over and placed an order. I scrolled my phone and glanced at some of the customers in the place. It was a combination restaurant and bar, and there were a few rednecks up at the bar drinking. I moved farther from them; they made me nervous.
It's such bullshit to be gay and also afraid of men.
Once the pizza was ready, I paid and hurried back to the car. I ran the pizza back to the apartment and then went back down to get some cleaning stuff. Mom mentioned a few things in particular, but I knew what we'd need. The bell tinkled as I entered, and I noticed the guy – Hav – wasn't there. Instead there was a pretty girl with long brown hair behind the counter. She had on a small red vest with the store's name stenciled on it.
I glanced around and then walked the aisles to look for cleaning supplies, but I had no idea how this place was organized.
“Can I help you find anything?” the girl asked, stepping from behind the counter, but not approaching.
I swiped my upper lip with my finger. “Uh, cleaning stuff? Scrubbing sponges and such?”
She smiled. “Over here,” she said, heading across the front of the store. I fell in behind her, glancing down each aisle as we went to the far end. She waved a hand and smiled at me again. “Here we are. Cleaning stuff, and such.”
I had the impression she was emphasizing the and such a bit, but I just bobbed my head. “Thanks.”
“What are you cleaning?”
I glanced at her and back to the items on the shelf. “Uh. We just moved into an apartment upstairs.”
“Didn't I clean well enough?” she asked, her smile growing smaller.
Not by my father's standards. “Oh. Uh, this is just for, you know, upkeep,” I lied.
“Well, in my defense, I don't normally clean up crime scenes.”
I froze for a heartbeat as my anxiety took a firm grip on me and then looked at her. Her face was nearly split in half by her smile.
“I'm just kidding!” she giggled. “Oh, gosh, your face!”
I smiled hesitantly, my heart rate bouncing up and down. “Uh, yeah. Kind of shocking. Dark sense of humor, huh?”
“I don't know,” she said with a shrug. “I didn't say anything about blood or something.” She tilted her head. “My boyfriend does say I like horror movies just a little too much, though.”
“Those aren't really known for their humor,” I pointed out.
“True,” she said, walking with me back toward the register with my armload of cleaning agents and a pack of scrubby sponges. “But sometimes the fun of a horror movie is poking the person next to you when things are tense.” She leaned in just a touch and grinned. “My boyfriend's a squealer.”
I chuckled nervously, my anxiety lower than it was but not gone. It almost never is. “I'm sure he appreciates getting the crap scared out of him,” I said, putting my things on the counter.
She began to scan the items as she spoke. “Well, I don't know. He keeps coming back, so I guess it works for him.”
“Stockholm syndrome?” I asked.
“Just me getting even,” she said with a grin. “His parents are super strict, and he's always getting his car taken away, so I have to drive everywhere. I think he likes being a passenger princess. We're both kind of into movies, though. My mom has a movie night with us once or twice a week, so I've seen hundreds of movies.”
I nodded, not knowing what else to do as she bagged the items.
“Here you go.” She pushed the bag to me.
“Uh, how much?”
“Oh, no charge when you move in. Hav has a cleaning allowance for the apartments, and since I probably did a half-assed job – plot twist, I hate cleaning – seems only fair.” She paused. “What's your name?”
“Uh. Harvey.” I reached for the bag. “Thanks.”
“Harvey? Like the big rabbit?”
I stared at her. “Sorry?”
She smiled. “From the movie 'Harvey'. You have a movie named after you and you don't know about it? I loved 'Scooby Doo' when I was a kid because of Daphne.”
I glanced away and looked back to her again. “What about her?”
She rolled her eyes. “Because that's my name, silly. Daphne Call. You're Harvey...?”
I swallowed. “Yeah, Harvey. Thanks again,” I said, picking up the bag and heading for the door. I'd realistically not be in any danger giving her my name, but I also felt uncomfortable doing so. I knew my father was busy with other problems right now, no matter how much damage he felt it did to his prestige that his wife and son had slipped out of his grasp. Being in jail, having records sealed from you and maybe an ankle monitor – all while being a cop – was plenty for him to deal with. Revenge for us running from him was still on his list, but I want to say he's got bigger fish right now.
Yet I was still uncomfortable.
After making sure the street level door was secure, I headed to our apartment.
“Did they have anything?” my mother asked.
“Yeah, a few things.” I put the bag down on the kitchen counter. “Enough for now.” She looked through the bag, taking a few things out and nodding. She let out a breath, and some of my anxiety eased – we would clean up, and that would make it better. After we ate, we spent the better part of the evening scrubbing; I took the bathroom, and she focused on the kitchen. As she started to clean, she began to sing to herself, and I put my headphones on, tuning out of the world and focusing reality down to the beat in my ears and the rhythmic scrubbing of the tub, sink and floor tiles.
When I finished, I took a brief shower and stretched out on my bed. Rain began to patter against the glass of my window, and I tried to relax. In truth I wasn't that tired, having been a passenger in the car for most of the trip. Most of my fatigue was from my anxiety spiking up and down throughout the day. I thought about the scene I'd witnessed when we arrived, Hav throwing out the red hat and his explanation. His explanation made sense, but the anger he'd displayed also had made me nervous.
It reminded me of the many trips I'd made out to the garage with my father. Any number of things could be the justification for a trip out there, but they all went along the same lines. For instance, he'd taken issue after I'd gotten into a fight at school. It wasn't the fact I was fighting, but the fact that he perceived I'd lost. In a school fight, it seems who 'won' was a matter of conjecture.
That session, like nearly all that had come before it, started the same way, with him telling me to place my shoes, shirt and pants on a small folding table; my clothes had to be neatly folded, not simply discarded. My clothes were good quality, he'd say softly, and blood stains. It was always possible a split lip or a bloody nose would occur. Then I was to stand on a painted square.
“I know I've explained this before,” he said, unbuttoning his shirt, “but the best teacher for certain lessons is repetition.” He peeled his shirt back to reveal the tank top undershirt, more commonly called a wife beater. Talk about truth in advertising.
“Now. Why do you think you lost that fight today?” he asked.
This was always the tricky part. There was always hope there was a right answer. “I don't think I lost, sir.”
“No? Well, I'm disappointed you think that,” he said. “But let's begin where we always must. You have weak blood in you, from your mother's side, as you well know. It falls to me to to help you fight against your nature, to teach you how to overcome that weakness.”
He started to pace slowly before me, and I watched him carefully, nerves coiling and uncoiling in my gut. The heels of his shoes made a small echo in the enclosed space.
“Of course, it's not your mother's fault any more than it's yours, but you have to understand these things if you're going to fight them,” he said calmly. “Now a proper white man will look at you and smell that weakness. They will recognize your place in the world. They will look at your skin and know they are your better; you can't change that. All you can do is hope to hold your own, and to do that you can't be afraid of pain.”
The word 'pain' was punctuated with my breath leaving me in a big whoosh as he turned on the balls of his feet and drove his fist into my gut. My knees buckled, and I sank to the floor, gasping but not falling to one side. Going to my knees was expected, even desired, but to lay down was impermissible.
“In a fight, pain is almost inevitable,” he continued, as if we were just chatting. “But it can be mitigated. Not by cowardly avoidance, but by deflection and counter strike.”
In my bed I closed my eyes and tried to breathe, willing him and his lessons from my mind. When that didn't work, I picked up my headphones, but they were dead again. I always forget to plug them in. It doesn't seem to matter how many times I pick them up only to find them dead – I never seem to remember. Left without options, I looked at the window, watching the rain shimmer on the glass as it caught light from outside and then ran down the glass, merging with other droplets on their journey earthward.
My mind wasn't ready to be completely still, but at least it wasn't going back to the garage. Instead I once more thought about Hav and his anger at the guy with the red hat. His anger wasn't like my father's, as far as I knew. My father was in control in public, though I wouldn't be surprised if some people he'd arrested would argue that. So while I was wary of Hav's anger, it seemed like a better form of anger. Not the type that's hidden and used to 'make a point' but rather out in the open, apparent to all and seemingly non-violent. I liked that last part.
Also it was clear he didn't have a general issue with the world around him, as he certainly didn't yell at the priest or anyone else. He and Sandy seemed to enjoy a bit of friendly verbal sparring; I liked that Sandy gave it back to him and he didn't escalate. Then there was Daphne. I'm not always comfortable with friendly people, as they tend to be too nosy as well. I know it was rude of me not to have given my name, to intentionally dodge, and another person would apologize for that. Unfortunately, the next logical step would be to ask why I'd dodged, and I wasn't ready for that.
It took a long time for sleep to come, and it wasn't restful. New sounds kept waking me, and that combined with being in a strange place to leave me getting up and down in between short naps.
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