Deep Fried
Thomas Nesbit
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2009 Thomas Nesbit
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This book is dedicated to Michael Ian Borer
NOTE: If you are unable to see scanned images from Eddy Funderburke's journal beginning after the second chapter, you will be missing crucial parts of DEEP FRIED due to the limitations of your current ebook reader. To view the .epub format optimally, the author suggests using Lexcycle Stanza on iPhone and iPod Touch, available as a free download at the App Store. Do not attempt to read the novel in .epub format using desktop versions of Stanza, as the program - as of June 2009 - does not support images. If all else fails, the author suggests trying a more universal file format, such as the .pdf version that contains the definitive layout of DEEP FRIED. Thanks for being patient with ebooks. It's the future, after all.
DEEP FRIED is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
DEEP FRIED is the result of many acts of kindness by the fiercest crew in the game.
Extra credit goes to Charlotte Gordon and Connie Rothwell who said years ago that I could pull it off. Hug your teachers.
Carole Buggé, Matt De La Pena, and Alex Steele of Gotham Writers Workshop taught me my craft. If you sign up, tell them Thomas Nesbit sent you. Can’t beat their prices with a stick!
So many friends volunteered to read drafts, excerpts, even the whole beast! Let us praise these generous souls – Stefanie Alaimo, Jacqueline Basha, Lynn Chin, Jon Gingerich, K. Ross Hoffman, Christine Hutchison-Jones, Amalia Jiva, Katrina Lacey, Jane McIntosh, Sujay Pathak, Gina Quaranto, Michelle Roberts, Phil Santo, and Tom Stein.
A few went beyond the call of duty, devoting untold hours to helping me revise DEEP FRIED: Michael Abramson, Barbara Allman, Thomas F. Cook, and Carrie Ann Wharton. The Angelika Group shall survive the diaspora!
I rarely accomplish great things without thinking fondly of Christoph Bärenreuter, Thomas D. Carroll, Ruben Inion, Si-Phi Katzenberger, Justin Steinberg, and Meg Toth.
Through her encouragement, Alyssa Timin helped me get through the earliest drafts. Green mountains are always walking.
Jon Yanovsky – marketeer extraordinaire – generously offered great insight, kept my ideas in check, and navigated the wild world of Mobipocket on my behalf. Meet you at the Dike, fewl!
Pamela Vachon picked up on some missing strains in DEEP FRIED and dared me to cultivate them. Thanks for helping me during the final stretch.
All my best to Mela – benign doppelganger, digital psychonaut, and mistress of the Vienna portal. You’re always an inspiration. Get Silky on a plane and visit soon!
Tommy Coe did an awesome job with the cover. In addition to talent and vision, dude’s got jaw-dropping intuition. Beware the Peeps/Twinkies alliance!
Nicole Tully introduced me to the word “gurch,” remixed chapter 23, offered a lot of support while I finished the dang thang, and even bailed me out of Jean (population 2). Many thanks!
The world is better with Dan Smalheiser, a man who chipped in on my first iPod, carted my two-ton library all over the northeast, let me order anything I wanted at Blue Hill, and met me everywhere from Budapest to Death Valley Junction. He continues to be a great teacher and wonderful friend.
I owe everything to Julie Felty, Magna Mater.
Michael Ian Borer had crucial insights that launched at least two more revisions of DEEP FRIED, but that’s just the beginning. He’s come through ever since I first rolled into Allston Rock City wearing a dusty Caesars Palace hat from the Tyson days. As a thinker, he’s my greatest challenger in the Octagon. He’s also my closest friend. Without reservation, DEEP FRIED is dedicated to him.
CHAPTER 1
Eddy Funderburke wanted to fuck his mom. And this wasn’t some flippy-dippy hunger like a craving for Twizzlers. We mean serious. Despite negotiations with his id and Jesus of Nazareth, neither would take away the obsession.
Yes, he knew it was wrong to lust after the 40DDs that once provided breakfast, lunch, and dinner. And even the threat of Hell couldn’t shake his desire to lick the pink apartment he once squatted for nine blissful months.
It didn’t help that Josie Funderburke was hot, at least by Roughedge County standards. She freely admitted that God had made her “big boned,” prompting the church ladies to fawn over how well she wore it, draping her flesh in yards of angora, crushed velvet, and lace. And when she strutted by with black kitten heels, all the men of Bunkum Creek Church couldn’t help but tap their feet.
Eddy wanted Josie all the time, and his brother’s graduation day proved no different. Sweating beneath the punishing sun, Eddy stared at his mother’s thighs cooking on the bleachers. He wanted to rub his cheeks against her pantyhose, burying his nose deep into her crotch. A fourteen-year-old virgin, he didn’t know how pussy smelled, but he figured – in the immortal words of God the Father – it was good.
“There he is!” said Josie, making Eddy look up from his mother’s nylons.
He watched his brother stomp across the plywood platform, snatching a scroll from an elderly woman who looked five minutes away from heat stroke.
“Gabe Funderburke,” said the principal of Robert F. Williams High, shouting into a bendy microphone.
Eddy smiled as the Funderburke name boomed across the football field, prompting a few claps and hollers.
After tossing the scroll to the crowd, Gabe ripped off his robe and curled his biceps at a photographer. Some teachers tried to wave him off stage, his greasy skin shining in the sun.
“That son of mine,” said Josie, shaking her head. “Wicked to the core.”
“At least he’s got on somethin underneath.”
A couple of security officers tried to manhandle Gabe, but the baby oil wouldn’t let them get a good grip. After jerking away, he walked off the stage alone. The crowd roared as he slung his graduation cap into the stands.
“I’m afraid for his soul,” said Josie. “He ain’t nothin but an idolater.”
“He don’t worship Satan.”
“He worships his body and that car of his. He needs to realize there ain’t nothin eternal about no Camaro.”
“God’ll take care of him,” said Eddy. “Don’t you worry.”
“I want you to promise me somethin,” said Josie, plunging her airbrushed nails into Eddy’s arm. “Don’t you ever turn out like Gabe. God made my baby special.”
“I ain’t no baby.”
“You are and always will be,” she said, planting a fiery kiss that made Eddy’s blood churn. “I love you more than you’ll ever know.”
After the ceremony, Eddy ducked into the backseat of the Camaro, as Josie promised to take the family to A1 Super Chinese Buffet, the cheapest deal around on all-you-can-eat crab legs. The car screeched out of the parking lot, sending Eddy sliding across pleather seats greased with Armor All. His head smacked against the speaker panel.
“Don’t fuck up my 6x9s,” said Gabe, jerking around.
Eddy could barely hear him over a mashup of “Brown Sugar” and “Mr. Carter.”
“Watch your mouth,” said Josie.
“It’s graduation, I can do whatever the hell I want.”
“So long as you live in my house you’re still my child.”
Gabe punched the accelerator and passed a Kubota combine that nearly took up both lanes. After they cleared a hill – gaining a bit of air – Eddy peeked out the window, watching the sun draw neon hues out of the pines and pastures, lending them a radioactive sheen. It would be another half-hour before they made it to Fecalton, the nearest town.
When they walked into the Chinese restaurant, Eddy figured his mother would request a table close to the kitchen. After all, he knew the routine. They would remain seated until a Latino hauled out a steaming pan of crab legs, then they’d pounce the hot bar, sticking out elbows to keep the senior citizens at bay. Eddy always hated the waiting part, preferring to blow his appetite on hushpuppies and fish sticks. After enough whining, Josie would sometimes let him off the leash, but this was Gabe’s graduation day – the Funderburkes had to fuck the system.
As they snapped apart the crustaceans, sending crab juice in every direction, Eddy was happy to be sitting next to Gabe, whose muscles always attracted stares from shy girls and nervous men. If nothing else, it made it easier for Eddy to ignore his own “baby fat,” as his mother still called it. Short and husky, he was better suited for girls’ jeans from the Juniors department, which Josie would often slip him under the dressing room door, telling Eddy – and everyone else in the vicinity – that he should be proud of his bubble butt.
“Figured y’all should know,” said Gabe, drenching some crabmeat in melted butter. “I’m movin out tomorrow.”
“No way,” said Eddy, looking up from his plate.
“You can’t just up and leave,” said Josie. “What about your job with Orville?”
“He don’t mind. Wanted a Mexican anyway.”
“Where you heading?” said Eddy.
“Myrtle Beach,” said Gabe, snapping a crab claw. “Ain’t gonna spend my life shoveling turkey shit.”
“You got no place to live,” said Josie.
“Gettin a place with Travis and Justin. We got enough saved up.”
“Ain’t no way you’ll make it down there. It’s too expensive.”
“I’ll get a job at The Stud Factory,” said Gabe with a grin. “You know I ain’t afraid to strut it.”
“Can I come and visit?” said Eddy, sucking down a spoonful of banana pudding.
“Have to do something with that haircut,” said Gabe, rubbing his wet fingers through Eddy’s hair, snapping the gelled stalactites stuck to his forehead. “Girls don’t need to think I’m with some fag.”
“Screw you.”
“Now don’t go pushin my baby around,” said Josie.
“Sorry, Mozart.”
“Shut up!” barked Eddy.
“Might be best if you moved your fancy butt to Myrtle Beach tonight.”
“Can’t do it. Gotta get in a couple more rounds with Emily.”
“You better leave as soon as we get home. I’ll even help you pack.”
“Whatever,” said Gabe.
“Excuse me,” said Josie, waving over one of the busboys. “Can you get them to bring us the check?”
“But I ain’t had no soft serve,” said Eddy.
“Don’t get whiney, little man. We got some Napoleon at home, remember?”
When they went to pay the bill, the owner smiled at them, straining as if the sun were in his eyes. Looking at a faded poster of Delphi hanging behind the cash register, Eddy wondered why the proprietor left Greece to open a Chinese restaurant in Fecalton, North Carolina. He grabbed a couple of cherry lollipops and walked out into the humidity, his stomach rumbling from pudding and seafood.
Rocking out to the latest Gangsta Grillz, Gabe smeared the streets on the way home, cutting an hour-long trip in half. Gunning it past Orville’s turkeyhouses, he turned onto a gravel road that led them deep into the woods. Eddy loathed how slowly his brother took Funderburke Way, careful not to nick the fenders with kicked-up rocks.
But even more than that, Eddy hated seeing the Funderburke grounds creep into view, especially the clearing around the doublewide, where weeds grew waist high. Even though he considered himself a professional yard artisan – having mowed Bunkum Creek Church three summers straight – there was no way he could tackle his own grass, as rusted engines and appliances lurked within the wilds, ready to rip apart the mower deck. Some time ago, feral dogs tore out the insulation underneath the house trailer, leaving pink fibers waving among the cinderblocks. Looking at a heap of trash piled against the woods, he hoped that such images would serve as a dramatic backdrop for a future PBS special on Eddy Funderburke – the world’s greatest classical violinist.
Gabe pulled up to the backdoor, letting the car idle.
“Y’all get out,” he said. “Got business to take care of.”
“Don’t be surprised if your crap’s out in the yard when you get back,” said Josie, as Eddy swooped out of the backseat.
“Make it easier to pack,” said Gabe, hitting the accelerator so hard that the passenger door swung shut.
Inside the house, Eddy grabbed a fresh bucket of Neapolitan ice cream and opened the silverware drawer, looking for a soupspoon.
“Ants all up in here again,” shouted Eddy.
“Use the Raid!”
Eddy grabbed the industrial-sized black can, choked with a yellow collar – 25% Free. He nearly emptied the canister, watching the ants twitch to death. By the time he had carried out Josie’s orders, the air was so thick with insecticide that he could barely breath. Figuring that the silverware was toxic, he grabbed a wooden spoon off the range.
Back in his bedroom, Eddy squatted down on the bottom bunk and began shoveling mouthfuls of chocolate down his throat. He tried to avoid the strawberry and vanilla, but once he gobbled up all the chocolate, he let the wooden spoon cross into pink territory. His mind sifted through impressions of the day as he wondered what he’d write about in his journal, a depository for his wild fantasies and cloudy memories, all mashed into new visions.
Crunching a frozen strawberry that sent a jagged pain through his jaw, he realized – for the first time – that he would soon be living alone with Josie Funderburke. Not only that, but Gabe wouldn’t be poking around his journal, reading passages aloud in Shakespearean Southern while Eddy tried to snatch the spiral-bound notebook, scratching himself on the wire. With big brother out of the way, he could write whatever he desired.
CHAPTER 2
The next morning, Eddy devoured microwave pancakes drenched in syrup while watching TV. He always loved the sweet taste after Josie forced him to chug an entire bottle of Sudafed, an everyday ritual.
“I can’t believe they still show this stuff,” said Eddy, referring to a rerun of the Teletubbies.
“I just love them little boogers,” said Josie, doubling over with laughter as a baby’s head appeared in the sun.
“Purple one’s queer,” said Eddy, checking out his mom’s cleavage as he took a big gulp of Mountain Dew.
“Ain’t no way.”
“That’s what they said in Sunday School. Got that big ol’ purple triangle on his head. Purse, too.”
“Well I’ll be,” said Josie, looking back at the TV.
“Told ya.”
“We shouldn’t be watching this,” said Josie, grabbing the remote.
As his mother flipped through the channels, Eddy heard the roar of his brother’s Camaro. He went to the window and saw a massive trailer hitched to the car.
“He got a U-Haul,” he said. “Ain’t joking around.”
Eddy watched as his brother opened up the trailer, slinging out plastic crates that he’d seen around Orville’s turkey farm. When he held the backdoor to let his brother in, Eddy noticed that each one was labeled “Chlortetracycline Hydrochloride.”
“Don’t be bringing that nastiness into my house,” said Josie.
“I washed them out.”
“You gonna stink up the place with them things. I know where Orville keeps 'em.”
“These clean,” shouted Gabe, already hauling the crates into the bedroom.
Eddy decided to join him back there, figuring he could finish off his second helping of pancakes after his brother hit the road. In the bedroom, the red boxes formed a fiery pillar that nearly touched the ceiling. When Gabe opened the first one, Eddy saw dust whoosh into the air. It wasn’t long until the entire bedroom smelled like worn-out kitty litter.
“Gonna make my shit reek,” said Gabe, slamming down one of the crates in front of the closet.
He rolled up an armful of clothing – hangers and all – and stuffed it into the box. After cleaning out the closet, he tackled the bookshelf, clearing away the amino acids, protein powders, and vitamin supplements that had tempted Eddy for years, even though Gabe said they’d only make him fatter. Besides The Picture Bible, the only things left on the bookshelf were cassette tapes of Eddy playing the violin, the remnants of his obsessive practicing rituals.
“You can keep all the posters,” said Gabe, referring to the bikini models that covered almost every inch of the walls, except for a corner where Eddy proudly displayed some plaques from violin competitions.
“You sure?”
“Got the real thing where I’m going,” said Gabe, as he unwired the television.
“You can’t take that!” said Eddy. “I need it!”
“It’s my TV.”
“Mom gave it to both of us, remember?”
“Fetch the chainsaw, Mozart. We’ll get this straightened out.”
“What’s going on in here?” shouted Josie, stomping towards the bedroom.
“Gabe won’t let me have the TV.”
“It’s Gabe’s TV.”
“See!”
“But you gave it to both of us!”
“Just cool it, little man,” said Josie, appearing in the doorway.
“How am I going to watch Family Guy?”
“In the living room,” said Gabe, carrying the TV out.
“Don’t worry,” whispered Josie once Gabe was out of range. “We’ll get you a new TV.”
“Yay!”
“But don’t tell him,” hissed Josie, patting him on the head. “Be a good boy.”
Once Gabe got everything packed up and announced he was about to pull out, Josie tossed down a couple of pills and took a Salem out of her cigarette case.
“Remember that Jesus loves you,” said Josie, blowing smoke out of both nostrils.
“Give him my best when he comes back.”
“Don’t you mock the Rapture,” huffed Josie. “You ain’t gonna be such a smart butt when you see the moon turn to blood and them four horsemen.”
“I know mom,” said Gabe, hugging his mother. “I’ll be fine.”
“Just don’t forget about us,” said Josie.
“We love you,” said Eddy, surprised by the words.
“Take care of mom, Mozart.”
Eddy stood beside his mother as Gabe pulled the out, knocking over the mailbox with the tail end of the trailer. Although he could see tears in his mother’s bloodshot eyes, he wondered why she never told Gabe that she loved him. Maybe I spoke for the two of us, Eddy thought, following her back into the house. Or maybe she really just loves me.
CHAPTER 3
With Gabe away, the trailer seemed to take on a brighter hue. Josie even called in sick for once, telling Eddy that she’d take him to Wal-Mart to pick out a new TV. He was surprised when she nodded her head at the 24” Philips flatscreen, larger than any box the Funderburkes had ever owned. She put it on her Precious Moments MasterCard, smiling as she reminded her son that there’s one less mouth to feed.
“I gotta get back into that Tetris,” said Eddy, whipping out his Nintendo DS Phat. “Don’t want my hand-eye coordination gettin loose.”
“Whatever it takes, my little baby.”
“I ain’t no baby,” said Eddy, pushing the Wal-Mart buggy towards the Grand Cherokee, eager to get home.
Even the hour-long drive to violin lessons began to take on a festive mood. To Eddy, it sometimes felt like they were on a date together, even though he’d never officially been on one. Right before they crossed into Charlotte city limits, Josie would pull over at Wendy’s, regardless if the duo had eaten lunch just two hours ago.
“Want a Frosty?” said Josie, idling the SUV a few feet away from the intercom.
“Biggest they got.”
Both Josie and Eddy squeezed the chilly cups between their thighs. Instead of chitchatting as they pulled away from the drive thru, they traded off slurps of chocolate shake, all to the beat of Bach’s St. John Passion. It wasn’t too long before Josie spoke up.
“Gabe and all got me thinkin. Don’t know if I can stand being lonely the rest of my life.”
“I’ll be around.”
“You know just as good as me that you’ll head out the minute you graduate. Boy with your talent can’t make it in Roughedge County.”
“I’m gonna take care of you,” said Eddy, imagining crawling into a canopy bed with his mother. “I’ll even fly you to wherever I’m playing.”
“You don’t know what it’s like, boy. I done turned 32 and ain’t got much to show for it, except a kid that’s done right and one that’s going down the path of sin.”
After sucking in air, Eddy opened the milkshake lid and slid out the straw, scrapping away any trace of Frosty.
“I think I’m about over your daddy.”
“Whatchu talking about?”
“Figure it’s high time to find me a good clean-cut husband. I’ll be stuck alone in the house before you know it.”
“Ain’t no reason to get married,” said Eddy, biting down on the straw.
“Men don’t wanna buy some dried up cow if there’s a young heifer out there. You gotta understand, son.”
Eddy tried to figure out what to say. He wanted to comfort her by listing all the times that strange men had looked her up and down, as if their eyes tried to caress every curve. But he sure as hell didn’t want to encourage his mother to seek love outside of the family.
“I think your body’s pumpin,” said Eddy, readjusting the erection in his pants.
“Whatchu say?”
“I think you look good. That’s all.”
“Might be good to have a Christian man around the house,” said Josie, resuming her soulful drone, as if nothing had happened. “All you ever known is Gabe.”
“How about Preacher Manus?”
“He’s been married since before you could breathe, boy!”
“That ain’t what I’m sayin!” said Eddy, feeling like things were sliding further out of control. “He’s just been good for me. I don’t need nobody else.”
Eddy hoped his mother’s latest concern would soon pass, maybe after she got used to Gabe’s absence. No matter what, Eddy didn’t want a step dad who would make him practice deep in the woods while everyone else watched back-to-back episodes of King of the Hill.
After they arrived at his teacher’s apartment complex, Eddy felt overtaken with jealousy. His arms tightened, his teeth clamped shut. He couldn’t take the thought of someone else touching her, exploring surfaces he’d only glimpsed through cracked doors and foggy mirrors. He tried to clear his thoughts as they knocked on Donald’s door.
“Eddy and Josie!” said his violin teacher, armpits exposed for hugs.
As usual, Eddy was the first victim, twisting away once the grip tightened. Looking on while Donald gave Josie a full-frontal caress, Eddy thought he could hear her bra crinkle.
“Please, please,” said Donald, directing Josie to the waiting room after she handed off an orange plastic bottle. “Commence with the Partita!”
Eddy always felt at home in Donald’s apartment, even though he knew his mother paid for violin lessons with prescription pills that she stole from her nurse’s assistant job at Southern Pride Rest Home. Leveling the violin onto his shoulder, he released the opening strains of the allemanda, keeping close watch on the sheet music, even though his fingers had memorized every note.
“Careful with the rubato! Bach would barf!”
Eddy began to hold tension in his left wrist, his normal response to Donald’s outbursts. The dull pain made him feel like he had more control, allowing his internal rhythm to take over. No matter what, he hoped Donald wouldn’t turn on the metronome, which always made him feel like a child.
“The beauty lies within the patterns,” said Donald, readjusting his burly body against the leather armchair. “Let the music unfold like a kaleidoscope. Imagine the majestic cathedrals of Europe!”
Eddy wouldn’t dare look at Donald while navigating the corrente. Watching his teacher only made him play faster, sacrificing accuracy. He fixed his gaze on the sheet, hoping to make it flawlessly to the sarabanda.
“Chartres! La Sainte-Chapelle! Mon Dieu!”
Eddy used the sarabanda to rest his arms, but his focus never wandered, performing each phrase with grace.
“Here’s where your heart should bleed a little,” said Donald. “But don’t take me into Debussy-ville.”
Eddy could often ignore his teacher. But this time Donald’s words conjured images of floury faces and corsets pulled tight, anonymous beauties culled from Amadeus, a film Eddy watched obsessively. He pivoted to point his pelvis towards the sliding-glass door, knowing that the birds outside wouldn’t be interested in his budding erection.
“Don’t lose it!” said Donald, as Eddy ventured towards the giga. “This is supposed to be a real dance. Don’t make me see a bunch of fairies waltzing around!”
Looking blindly at the blank spaces in his sheet music, Eddy tried to imagine Mozart’s maidens dancing at his command. But soon he lost the dream.
“Play like your life is on the line!”
“I ain’t even made it to the ciaccona.”
“And you might as well not even try if you don’t put a little more oomph into the giga. Play with balls!”
Eddy began to overemphasize the first beat of every measure, hoping the pounding would shut up Donald.
“Now you got it! Take it all the way and nail that bastard!”
Eddy sped through the final passages, praying that Donald would let him slide into the ciaccona. For over a month, he had spent the last half of the lesson taking the section slowly, playing it measure-by-measure against the steady thump of the metronome. He had never integrated it into the entire Partita.
“Commence with the ciaccona!”
Eddy launched into the last section, over ten minutes of impossible passages. He tried to block out Donald’s mandate, which cycled throughout Eddy’s head, even when his teacher hummed in approval – Don’t fuck it up!
Halfway into the last section, Eddy’s anger began to brew. He thought about all the times that Donald would shake the dust off his violin to show Eddy how it should be played. His attempts were usually nothing more than pronounced slurs, always ending with him screaming, “You know what I mean!”
I can outplay the bald bastard, thought Eddy, trying to rein in the tempo.
“You’ve got it! Can you hear it, Josie?”
“You better believe it.”
When Eddy arrived at the end of the piece, he was rewarded with applause from Donald and his mother. The young violinist stood there, his arms and fingers throbbing. He knew that Donald would soon tear the piece apart and make him repeat passages measure by measure. But for now Eddy stood triumphant, content that his teacher never once made him cease the ciaccona.
CHAPTER 4
With school out, Eddy no longer had to wait until the weekend to mow Bunkum Creek Church. Over the past two summers, he had become a master of yard cultivation, bringing order to acres of crabgrass, milkweed, and the occasional patch of fescue. Just like his brother, he mowed shirtless, determined never to get a farmer’s tan. Sometimes he even shored up his belly, making sure the sun had access to the milky skin beneath. But he would usually forget about it when he turned a corner, leaving him with a white ring above his waistline all summer long.
He also refused to wear sunscreen, as Gabe taught him that sunburn was a crucial step to deep tanning.
“That shit is for pussies,” his brother would whisper as he pushed the 30 SPF aside for more baby oil.
But after mowing, Eddy always came away with what Josie would repeatedly call a third-degree burn, damage so fierce that even a t-shirt was too rough for his raw shoulders. Despite his mother’s resolve, he always turned away the aloe, wanting to prove that he was just as much of a man as Gabe Funderburke.
When it came time to mow on Wednesday morning, Eddy set out for the Bunkum Creek Church graveyard, starting – as usual – around the most primitive tombstones facing the road. Some of the granite ones predated the Civil War. Others were just sharp splinters of shale weathered beyond recognition.
Such sights made Eddy a bit edgy, even though this was his third summer behind the blades. He wondered how many of the dead had actually made it to Heaven. Sometimes he couldn’t shake the thought that the condition of the tombstones reflected the state of Bunkum Creek’s souls. He tried to fathom what his stone would look like, imagining that it contained deep veins that would crack and expand as the seasons cycled.
After all, Eddy figured he was heading to Hell. Kids at school had taught him that Jesus didn’t like chronic masturbators. Even though he couldn’t find any prohibitions against jerking off in the King James Bible, Eddy knew he was on the wrong side of the law. And his obsession with Josie’s curves – of course – didn’t help his case for eternal bliss.
After finishing the cemetery and church grounds, he drove the lawn mower back to the parsonage. Although the sun was on its way down, he could make out a shadowy figure on the back porch with a red dot whirling around its head. Eddy figured it was Preacher Manus, but he found it difficult to believe that a man of God would suck smoke, especially since Josie made it all-too-clear that tobacco – like almost anything that produces a sensation – leads straight to the Fiery Furnace.
“God keeps me addicted so you’ll be scared straight,” Josie always said, defending her two-packs-a-day addiction to Salem menthols. “It’s my cross to bear.”
But spotting Preacher Manus huffing tobacco was a different matter. By the time Eddy locked up the shed, the large shadow had gotten rid of the cig and began walking in his direction. As the light on the power pole flickered above, the meaty man stuck out his hand, just as he did every Sunday after church.
“How you been, Eddy?”
“Alright, I reckon.”
“You got a minute?”
“Momma’s got dinner going.”
“Well, this won’t take long,” said the preacher. “Come over here and sit a spell.”
“Guess she won’t care if I’m a little late,” said Eddy, following the preacher up the wooden planks of the back porch.
Taking a seat around a plastic table, Eddy was careful not to lean back on the chair, as his back ached from sunburn.
“Now, I know it might not be my place to talk with you about this, but I figured I should, especially since there ain’t no man around your house anymore,” said the preacher, readjusting his girth in the chair. “Your momma ever talked to you about sexual reproduction?”
“Never,” said Eddy, wondering if God had somehow communicated his innermost fantasies to the preacher. “Why you ask?”
“You gonna be a sophomore next year. Figure it won’t be long until you meet some pretty little thang.”
“Really?”
“You ain’t done involved in no sexual activity yet, are you?”
Eddy didn’t know how to answer, but he figured he shouldn’t lie to God’s right-hand man. The problem was just figuring out how much truth to tell. The Sermon on the Mount taught him that even lusting after someone was committing adultery, so – to some degree – Eddy could be considered a motherfucker in the purest sense of the word. But he figured he could get off on a technicality since Jesus did not talk about cases of incest and – of course – neither he nor Josie had ever been married.
“You ain’t gonna tell nobody, are ya?”
“Lay your sins at the foot of the cross, my child.”
“I’ve, you know.”
“Just let the Spirit guide you.”
“I’ve touched myself,” said Eddy, pointing at his crotch. “With underwear.”
“What?”
“Women’s, you know.”
“You ain’t been trying it on now, right?”
“No sir!” said Eddy, thinking about all the times he wanted to plunge his legs into Josie’s nylons. “It just looks pretty.”
“You better watch yourself,” said the preacher. “The devil’s always out there trying to find ways to steal your soul.”
“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about it,” said Eddy, feeling his cheeks fill with blood. “I know it’s gonna send me to Hell.”
“Jesus can wash away all sins,” said the preacher, crossing his legs. “Just don’t go puttin on your momma’s bloomers. That ain’t right.”
Eddy couldn’t fathom what the preacher would think if he saw him with Josie’s drawers between his teeth, blue eyes burning as he fucked a jar of Pond’s Cold Cream.
“Does it make Jesus mad?”
“Makes Him think you’re a little fruity.”
“I ain’t no queer,” said Eddy. “I only like women.”
“That’s what we like to hear.”
“Can I go now?”
“Just promise me that you won’t have sex until you’re married,” said the preacher. “A lot of kids already started down the wrong road, and I don’t want to see that happening to you.”
“What if somebody sexes me while I’m sleepin?”
“You can always become a born-again virgin, but God likes you to keep His promises. He sees everything, you know. Like Santa.”
“I’ll do right,” said Eddy, smiling at the preacher.
“That’s what I like to hear, my boy!”
“Now you say I ain’t going to Hell for touching myself?”
“Better to take care of business that way than winding up with AIDS.”
“Just don’t tell my mom, alright?”
“Don’t you worry, Eddy. It’s just between us mens.”
After saying goodbye to the preacher, Eddy road home on his BMX, eager to fondle his mother’s pantyhose. Even though he figured Jesus didn’t like his ways, Eddy felt that the Lord could forgive anything, even if things got a bit sticky with Josie.
“I can always be a born-again virgin,” he whispered, popping a wheelie at the crossroads.
CHAPTER 5
During summer vacation, Eddy developed a ruthless routine that involved – immediately after breakfast – thirty minutes of Tetris, followed by a half hour on the violin, repeated ad infinitum until it was time for bed. Taking into consideration breaks for Swiss Cake Rolls and Star Crunch, he clocked in at least five hours of solid practice each day, recording every session with an old tape deck. The timer on his Taco Bell watch kept him in line, even when his appetite made him want to linger around the kitchen.
One day, Eddy was on his 49th level of Tetris when his mother knocked on the door.
“You know how important this is!” said Eddy, pausing the game. “I can’t just stop whenever I feel like it.”
“Cool it, mister. We got something to talk about.”
“This better be good,” said Eddy, crossing his arms.
“Preacher Manus called this morning.”
Eddy gripped his Nintendo DS, bracing for anything. He searched his mother’s face for clues, but even her eyes didn’t tip him off. He tried to think of ways to explain. Only one word cycled in his brain, losing meaning with every repetition. Once spoken, he hoped it would cover everything.
“Sorry,” said Eddy, feeling his muscles charge with adrenaline as he looked down at the paused Tetris screen.
“Whatchu sorry about?”
“Nothing. I didn’t do nothin bad.”
“Why’d you say that then?”
“I don’t know,” said Eddy, stretching his arms and popping his wrists. “What’d the preacher say?”
“Told me y’all had some sort of man-to-man talk the other night. I’m surprised you didn’t say nothin about it.”
“Figured you wouldn’t be interested,” said Eddy, shifting around in his chair.
He felt compelled to confess everything, to let out the images that had haunted his dreams for months. But Josie didn’t seem mad. He thought she didn’t know the whole story.
“Preacher’s talkin about gettin together a youth group,” said Josie. “Thought it’d be a lot of fun for the kids in the community.”
“Who all’s gonna be in it?”
“Just people from church.”
“I don’t want to hang out with a bunch of rednecks,” said Eddy. “You told me yourself I was better than all them.”
“They’re a lot better than them so-called friends of yours. Them bozos wouldn’t even speak to you if they caught you at TJ Maxx.”
Eddy remained silent, hoping she would let it go. Ever since Robert F. Williams Middle, he’d tried to associate with the popular crowd, even though they would shout “farm boy” if he stood too close.
“We ain’t like them doctors and lawyers that can buy whatever they want,” Josie continued.
“At least they don’t make their kids do Mexican work all summer.”
“Don’t go thinking you somebody you ain’t,” said Josie. “Take off that Tommy Hilfiger shirt and you’re still country.”
“You want me to start wearing a FFA jacket?”
“Preacher just wants you to be a part of the youth group. That ain’t so hard.”
“Might as well plow up the football field with the rest of them on Tractor Day.”
“Listen here, little man. This wouldn’t be such a big deal if Preacher Manus hadn’t told me about you wantin to get with girls.”
Eddy folded his arms again, feeling blood pumping through his neck. He wondered how much she knew.
“It ain’t true.”
“You sayin the preacher tellin stories?”
“No, ma’am.”
“He just wants you to be around good Christian girls, not them types Gabe used to bring around here.”
“Girls’ll pull me away from the violin,” said Eddy, turning his gaze away from Josie’s tits. “You said that yourself.”
“I know it, hunny. I don’t like the idea of you getting all googly-eyed around some hussy, even if she’s been baptized. You bound to get yourself in a lick of trouble.”
“Well I won’t join no youth group then.”
“Ain’t like that,” said Josie, letting out a sigh. “Preacher’ll be on me quick if a certain Eddy Funderburke don’t show up next Sunday night.”
“I got to?”
“I don’t like it either, but that’s the way God wants it.”
“I’ll go if you get me Papa John’s on the way back from violin lessons.”
“Every week?”
“Yep.”
“So long as you stay in the youth group, that’s a deal.”
CHAPTER 6
Eddy didn’t want to blow away his Sunday night with the youth group, but he knew he had no choice. Approaching the cemetery hill, he stood up on his BMX to peddle hard, trying to get enough momentum to keep from walking his bike to the top. After reaching the crest, Bunkum Creek Church came into view, its bleached steeple belting out Muzak renditions of time-tested hymns, reminding everyone that Roughedge County was God’s country.
He leaned his bike against the brick walls and walked towards what they called the Fellowship Hall. He tried to ignore the sweat that had soaked through his Beethoven t-shirt, figuring there would be no one there to impress. If nothing else, he took comfort in thinking that turkeyhouse manure from the surrounding farms had burnt out everyone’s sense of smell.
Even though Eddy was early, others had already arrived, sitting in folding chairs around collapsible tables. Among them was Tim Baucom, a thin kid outfitted in hick: Wal-Mart shorts and shoes, tin of Copenhagen on the table, and a t-shirt that boasted his loyalty to the Helms Road Volunteer Fire Department. Beside him were Aaron and Kyle Plyler, identical twins who would be entering Robert F. Williams High next fall. They jabbered about the Braves recent sweep against the Phillies, but no one else seemed to care.
“Only thing matters is #88 won today,” said Michael Barefoot, one of the heavies in the bunch. Nearly everyone affirmed Michael’s take, including Big John Fulton who everyone simply called “Chief.”
“This is Junior’s year,” said Chief, resting his meaty arms against his belly.
“Tony Stewart gonna take them all down,” said Jenny Henderson.
Nearly everyone in the room groaned, even Preacher Manus. When it came to NASCAR in Roughedge County, even Eddy knew that no one should cheer on a driver born outside of the Carolinas.
“Ain’t nobody better than #24,” said Shelley Benton, a 30-something housewife who stood beside the preacher. “Jeff’s still the cutest of them all.”
As nearly everyone booed her, Eddy looked over at his classmate Will Spurlock – the fattest kid of the bunch. Like Eddy, he never joined in the conversation, looking as if he were lost on some distant plateau. Even though they were once close friends, Eddy hadn’t spoken to Will since elementary school. Back then, Josie forbid them from hanging out together after discovering the eight-year-old boys flipping through dusty Penthouse magazines. It wasn’t long before violin filled the void.
Despite the chatter, Eddy heard the door open at the back of the Fellowship Hall. First came Dylan Spurlock – Will’s younger brother – followed by Amber Abernathy, one of Robert F. Williams Middle’s most decorated cheerleaders. Everyone acted excited to see Dylan, but only Eddy seemed thrilled to watch Amber saunter to the table. After all, the Abernathys were the wealthiest in the community, clinging to Bunkum Creek Church only out of family ties, if the rumors were true. But none of this mattered to Eddy. Underneath Amber’s t-shirt sprouted a couple of titties no bigger than plums, but more than enough to make Eddy have to readjust his shorts. Without a doubt, she was the only good catch available at Bunkum Creek Church, even though the unspoken consensus was that she was off-limits.
Must be a sign from God, thought Eddy as he crossed his legs, trying to bury his boner. Reason suggested that he would never have a chance with the 12 year-old legend, but Eddy was open to letting the universe work its magic, especially if it brought such a sweet-smelling lady into his life.
After getting everyone’s attention, Preacher Manus began addressing the group.
“We got big plans cause God’s got big plans,” said Preacher Manus. “I’m challenging y’all to raise enough money to take a trip to the Great Smoky Mountains, so we can see some of God’s most glorious handiwork firsthand.”
Tim Baucom let out a rebel yell that was echoed by others in the group.
“Now it ain’t gonna be easy,” said Preacher Manus. “We’ve gotta show this community that we’re willing to work hard. But once they see what the good Christian youth are doing right here at Bunkum Creek, they’ll open up their hearts and shower us with blessings.”
“But how we gonna get the money?” said Kyle Plyler.
“Bake sales, car washes, whatever God tells us,” said Preacher Manus. “Me and Shelley here are gonna help, but each of you’ll have to dig deep into your souls and talk one-on-one with Jesus. There ain’t no shortcut to glory.”
“How bout if we don’t raise enough?” said Chief.
“God’s gonna take care of that. Never doubt the power of Jesus!”
“Amen!” shouted Will Spurlock with a fervor that raised eyebrows.
His younger brother Dylan tried to stifle a laugh, prompting Eddy to notice him for the first time in years. Back when Eddy and Will seemed inseparable, Dylan was little more than the skinny kid who always followed them around. But now, Will looked like the reject compared to Dylan, whose slack posture and cool demeanor gave everyone the finger.
After the preacher sent them off to bring in the cash, some of the boys stayed to play basketball. Unfortunately, the hoop was nothing but a rusted goal nailed to a power pole. A lot of shots landed in the woods, forcing the kids to jump through briars to find the ball.
“Can’t believe they making us beg like a bunch of Mexicans,” said Michael, mumbling the words so badly that Eddy could barely understand him.
“Don’t see why Jesus can’t just get us a backboard,” said Chief, attempting a shot from 3-point land.
“Who the fuck wants to go camping anyway?” said Dylan, grabbing the rebound.
“It’s gonna be cool,” said Tim. “My cousins been out there before.”
“If there ain’t no ass out there, I ain’t going,” said Dylan, nailing the shot.
“Will’s got enough ass to go around,” said Kyle.
“Fuck you,” said Will, running off to tackle the most vocal of the Plyler twins.
Watching Will lose traction on the gravel, Eddy remembered when the tubby kid used to chase him around the playground, an almost daily ritual until he accidentally pushed him down face first, leaving Eddy with a shiner for 3rd grade graduation. Then there was the time that Will crashed Eddy’s bicycle, smashing a battery-powered watergun mounted on the handlebars. One thing was certain – Will was a klutz.
“Gonna just stand there or shoot?” said Chief, hurling the ball at Eddy’s chest.
After recovering from the shock, Eddy tried to run a layup, only to have the ball smack against the goal. Some of the boys laughed as he walked over to his bike. He thought about riding home, hoping everyone would forget the blunder.
“Not leavin’ yet, are you?” shouted Will.
“Nah,” said Eddy, surprised to hear someone speak directly to him. “Just gonna ride around a bit.”
Each time Eddy circled the church, he looked over at Dylan, who had just finished his last year at Robert F. Williams Middle School. For reasons Eddy couldn’t fathom, Dylan seemed to have developed in opposition to his slightly older brother. For Will’s lard, you had Dylan’s definition. Instead of stumbling over himself, Dylan ruled the basketball court. Whereas Will screamed backwoods, Dylan belonged in an Abercrombie ad, his tanned arms resting on some bikini-clad beauty.
Hope he ain’t tryin to get with Amber, thought Eddy as he stopped his bike in front of the boys. If Dylan was in the mix, he knew he didn’t have a chance at scoring Bunkum Creek’s only eligible babe.
After Eddy shouted goodbye to everyone, he booked it downhill before anyone could respond. As the sunset ripped apart the sky, leaving stains of orange and pink above the fields, Eddy hoped that he could somehow become as cool as Dylan one day.
CHAPTER 7
A few days after the youth group meeting, Eddy still couldn’t stop thinking about Amber. Granted, he was glad to have a bit of relief from the incessant musings over his mom, even though he still tried to spy some skin whenever she got out of the shower. But more often than not, it was Amber who snuck into his cerebral cortex, especially whenever he took time for Tetris. As blocks cascaded down the screen of his Nintendo DS, his imagination tried to undress her. In his fantasy world, she always wore a sheer bra, revealing nipples no bigger than dimes. Her eraser tips nearly cut through the black mesh as she moaned Eddy’s name again and again.
I’ve gotta take a break, thought Eddy as he hit the pause button. Unfortunately, his violin/Tetris schedule didn’t allow much time for snake handling, but he’d come to accept that it was just as necessary as taking a piss.
Right after he unpacked the Pond's Cold Cream, the phone rang.
“You gonna get that?” shouted Eddy, cracking his door.
“I’ve got it,” said Josie, screaming over the TV.
Retreating back into his bedroom, Eddy decided to take advantage of his distracted mother. This wouldn’t be some ordinary jerk-off session, where he’d rub his body against the life-sized stuffed unicorn in his closet. This time, he’d go all the way.
“Time to make love,” he whispered into his full-length mirror.
He figured it’d be wise to say goodnight to Josie before dimming the lights, as she had a habit of tucking him into bed. Walking out into the hallway, he could see her on the loveseat, her bleached hair drooping over the telephone. Standing in the shadows to conceal his boner, he tried to get her attention by snapping his fingers. When she didn’t respond, he beat on the walls until she looked over.
“What is it?” she mouthed, covering the receiver with her hand.
“Just wanted to say goodnight.”
Josie waved and looked away. Not content, Eddy beat his chest like Tarzan, hoping that would be enough to distract her.
“Can you hold on a minute? My son’s calling me.”
When Josie looked over, Eddy could tell that she was upset, even though her voice sounded as sweet as iced tea.
“Can’t you see I’m talkin?”
“You ain’t gotta tuck me in tonight. I’m tired.”
“Don’t interrupt me when I’m on the phone.”
“I’ll see you in the morning, mom.”
Eddy nearly skipped back to the bedroom, pleased that his plan had worked. After shutting the door, he bolted toward the closet. Ever since Gabe left, Eddy began hording some of Josie’s lingerie, digging through her clothes whenever no one was around. Chief among his finds was a pair of nude pantyhose specked with dry skin. But tonight called for the black negligee, accented with lace. Because the fabric had a slight musky smell, he figured it was something his mother hadn’t put on in years.
Gripping the garment, he turned off all the lights except for the tiny lamp on his nightstand. He took out the cold cream and Kleenex, arranging them on top of the chest-of-drawers for easy access. Undressed, he stroked his body in front of the mirror, as if his fingers could iron away his blubber.
After he put on the negligee, he refused to find his face in the mirror, afraid that it might break the spell. His erection bobbed towards the ceiling, creating a tiny tent that shook with every heartbeat.
I’ve got to go all the way, he thought as he rummaged for the pantyhose. He’d often rubbed them against his skin, but never gathered enough courage to try them on. Dipping his toes into the nylon worms, he no longer cared what Jesus thought, let alone Preacher Manus. After zigzagging the gauze to his knees, he jerked the pantyhose up to his waist, making his dick fold up like a wall bed.
He rubbed his hands across his thighs, listening to the nylon crackle against his calluses. Gazing into the mirror, he began to dream of a conjugal life with Amber, hoping that she would always let him try on her clothes before they made love. He felt he would never want to live any other way.
Eddy rolled the nylon down past his balls, giving his meat a breather. He dipped his hand into the cold cream, letting it squish between his fingers. Before greasing up, he grabbed a wad of Kleenex and fell backwards onto the bed, careful not to let the white goop stain his Spongebob Squarepants comforter. With Gabe gone, there was no bunk above him obstructing his view of the bikini-clad models on the wall, watching his every move.
After turning off the lamp, Eddy began stroking himself, trying to imagine what Amber would feel like. He rubbed his chest with his dry hand, wishing she were there. Taking a handful of lace, he stuffed it into his mouth and clamped down with his teeth, savoring its chalky texture.
“Whatchu doing in bed so early?” said Josie, opening the bedroom door.
Eddy darted underneath the comforter, just before she turned on the light.
“You trying to hide something from me?”
“Ain’t hiding nothin,” said Eddy, the comforter wrapped tightly around his neck. “I just don’t feel so hot.”
“You sick or something?”
“Don’t know,” said Eddy, trembling beneath the sheets. “I’ll be better in the morning.”
“Whatchu got my Pond's out for, little man?”
“My chest felt all hot. Thought it might help.”
“That don’t make a lick of sense,” said Josie, recapping the cold cream. “Let me get the thermometer.”
“I don’t need it,” said Eddy, smearing his greasy hand against the sheets. “I’ll be fine.”
“You sure you ain’t hiding nothin?”
“No!” said Eddy, quickly realizing that he shouldn’t have shouted at her. “I’m clean.”
“You on fire!” said Josie, placing her hand against his forehead. “Better get up now so I can check you out.”
“I’m OK,” said Eddy, praying she wouldn’t jerk back the covers. “We can go to the doctor if I ain’t better in the morning.”
“You better get some rest then.”
“Sounds good, mom.”
After they said goodnight to one another, Josie smooched her son on the forehead. Alone in the dark, he thought back to what Preacher Manus said, wondering if his mother’s visit was nothing short of a warning from God. The garments that had flamed his desire minutes before now felt as nasty as leeches. After taking them off, he pushed them towards the end of the bed with his calloused feet.
“I ain’t gonna do that no more,” said Eddy, raising his hands in prayer. “Forgive me Lord.”
CHAPTER 8
After church on Sunday, Eddy stood at the bottom of the staircase, hoping to bump into Amber Abernathy. To ease his jitters, he counted the number of steps over and over, noting geometrical designs in the worn-out Astroturf. Sometimes everything seemed tied back to Tetris.
“Well if it ain’t Eddy Funderburke,” said Dylan, surprising him from behind.
“How’s it goin?”
“Been better,” said Dylan, kicking a rock into the grass.
“You gonna go to youth group tonight?”
“Nothin else happening.”
“Heard that,” said Eddy, trying to copy Dylan’s slipshod delivery.
“Thinkin about heading over to Sunnyside later on. Wanna go?”
“Your family got a membership?”
“Nah, but we can get around that.”
For a moment, Eddy didn’t care if he came off too eager. After all, he’d never been inside Sunnyside Pool and Racquet Club, the closest thing to luxury in that stretch of Roughedge County. He knew it catered to the Charlotte types who took advantage of the cheap land, plopping down palm trees and McMansions on farms that went belly-up years ago. They were the kind of people Eddy hoped to become one day.
“How you gonna do it?” asked Eddy.
“There’s ways,” said Dylan, looking out towards the parking lot. “Holla at me later on and we’ll meet up.”
As Dylan walked away, Eddy asked for his number even though he didn’t need it. He still had it memorized from all the times he used to call Will.
Once Dylan faded out of sight, Eddy looked around for Amber. However, it wasn’t long before Josie came strutting down the steps, her black heels shining in the sun.
“Ready to hit the road?”
“I guess so,” said Eddy, accepting that Amber must have ducked out of the back entrance.
That afternoon, Eddy got in three cycles of violin and Tetris before biking over to the Spurlocks. He knew the old farmhouse well, even though it’d been years since his last visit. In the meantime, Dylan’s dad had put up some notorious vinyl siding, turning the entire house Richard Petty blue. Eddy often heard people gossiping about it, joking that the job won’t be finished until somebody paints a big #43 on the side.
“Y’all be sure to gather there during the Second Coming,” Preacher Manus once joked from the pulpit. “Jesus would have to be blind to miss that house!”
When Eddy rode into the driveway, he saw Dylan shooting basketball out back. He wheeled his bike around at full speed, planning to leap off before it crashed into the post. At the last second, he turned away and locked the back wheel, slinging gravel as he slid into a nasty skid. A cloud of dust came up on cue.
“Whatchu gonna do next, jump a ramp?”
“Set it up,” said Eddy, thinking back to the old door Will used to prop up with cinderblocks. He wondered if it was still behind the shed.
“Ain’t no time to be fucking around,” said Dylan, shooting him a smile. “We got business to take care of.”
“Heard that.”
Dylan picked up his bike off the ground, a rusted ten-speed with a cracked foam seat.
“You need somethin like this if you really gonna ride.”
“That ol’ thang?”
“Outrun that little penis bike,” said Dylan, spitting at Eddy’s BMX as he sped past.
“Ain’t you got towels?”
“Quit your whining, buttnut. We need to get goin.”
Dylan and Eddy didn’t talk much on the ride to Sunnyside, except to exchange jabs. After being the punchline of the popular kids’ jokes too many times, Eddy hated to be picked on, even if he felt that Dylan didn’t mean it. He decided to play along, tossing back whatever trash Dylan threw his way. He figured he’d eventually get used to it, especially if he wanted to be as smooth as his idol.
“Pull over there,” said Dylan, pointing towards a gap in the tall hedges. Behind them was a chainlink fence draped in black gauze. Three strands of barbed wire ran across the top. In the distance, Eddy could hear people splashing and screaming.
“We gonna jump it?”
“Not here,” said Dylan. “Just hide your bike and follow me.”
Dylan and Eddy walked single file beside the fence until they came to a section where the barbed wire drooped over the side.
“All you got to do is make it over.”
“It’s electric?”
“You think I’d put my balls on an electric fence?”
“Bastards gonna be waitin for us when we drop,” said Eddy, imagining the police lined up with German Shepherds.
“See that big tree,” said Dylan, pointing above them. “That’s gonna hide us. Plus there ain’t nobody around this part.”
“Like shit there ain’t.”
“You hear anybody? Climb your ass up there.”
“You go first.”
“Fuck you then,” said Dylan, slamming his toes in the links. “But you better not run off, punk ass.”
Dylan cleared the fence in one swoop, shifting his weight like a gymnast. Eddy tried to copy his style as he climbed towards the top. Within range of the barbed wire, the fence started to sway, prompting him to grip the top.
“Don’t grab the wire,” said Dylan.
Eddy closed his eyes and climbed high enough to get across. It wasn’t long before he could see the pool out in the distance.
“Just throw your leg over!”
After heaving his thighs over the fence, his trunks got caught on the wire.
“Jump!” shouted Dylan.
Eddy obeyed but his shorts got caught. They waved on the wire like a flag of futility.
“Get my shorts!” screamed Eddy, scrambling to cover his garbage.
“Ain’t mine.”
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