Lost in Clover (3 page)

“What?”

“In your back pocket.”

Eddie looked at the Spider-Man peeking out of his worn jeans. “It’s a present.”

“A present from who? We don’t have money to buy you dolls.”

“It’s Spider-Man. Michael gave it to me.”

“Who’s… Still, no boy should be playing with a doll. Not in my house.”

Mr. Cooper snatched the Spider-Man. “My Daddy did this to me too when I was your age. One of the best things he done for me.”

“No, Dad, no,” Eddie said, reaching for it.

Mr. Cooper shoved Eddie to the ground and then dropped the Spider-Man and smashed it with his boot. Eddie looked away.

“Are those tears? Are they?” Mr. Cooper said, standing over Eddie.

“No.”

“No what?”

Eddie wiped tear-streaked grime from his face. “No, sir.”

“Did you see what he did to my gift?” Michael whispered to Jeremy inside the house. “That guy is nuts.”

“Shhhh,” Mrs. Cooper said. “You don’t want him to come this way. Not how he’s acting today.”

“Well, come on boy, let’s go shoot some targets,” Mr. Cooper said. “It’s your birthday ain’t it?”

Eddie nodded. “I…have some friends here.”

“What?”

“I have some friends over for my birthday.”

“But you…I…where are they?”

“Inside the house.”

Mr. Cooper shot an angry look to the house. Carrie caught her breath and stepped into Jeremy. He held her waist and thought she would step forward again, but she didn’t. Mr. Cooper adjusted his posture, tucked in his shirt, and smoothed the hair under his hat.

“You need to tell me stuff like that, boy.”

“But I…”

“Hush now.”

Mr. Cooper stumbled towards the house. The girls scrambled back to their chairs. Mrs. Cooper crossed her arms and widened her stance, as if she were standing against a high wind. Jeremy, Carrie, and Michael looked at each other, not knowing what to do. The screen door opened, and Mr. Cooper stuck his head in.

“Howdy, ya’ll. Having a good time?” he said with a big grin. The stench of alcohol wafted into the room.

The three classmates looked at each other again; were they having a good time? No, but they knew there was a correct answer.

“Sure,” Jeremy said cautiously.

“We had some good cake,” Michael added.

“There’s cake, huh? Well I didn’t know nothing about that. Darling, did you bake a cake?”

Mrs. Cooper nodded. “Mmm-hum.”

“What’s that?”

“Yes, I baked a cake.”

“Sounds delicious. Have any left?”

“No, honey, they ate it all.” She looked at her guests with accusing eyes.

Mr. Cooper balled a fist and then relaxed his fingers. “Well, I guess they’re growin’.” He looked at the three kids. “Why don’t ya’ll come out and shoot some arrows with Eddie.”

They followed Mr. Cooper and Eddie out behind the house to a gully that was heaped full of garbage. Ripped trash bags full of decaying waste, broken bottles, crushed cans, waterlogged magazines, rusted metal junk, and larger appliances were crammed in the wide depression.

“This is where we usually shoot our guns, ain’t it son?” Mr. Cooper said.

Eddie nodded.

“Here, hold this.” He handed Eddie the bow and ventured down into the gully.

“What’s he doing?” Michael asked.

“Find us something to shoot, I suppose,” Jeremy said.

Jeremy and Michael wanted to touch the bow, but Eddie held it away from them. A few minutes later Mr. Cooper brought up a large misshapen chunk of grimy Styrofoam.

“Those storms blew it further than I expected.” He leaned the foam chunk up next to a tree. “Ready to take your first shot, Eddie?”

“Yep,” Eddie said enthusiastically.

Mr. Cooper pulled a fiberglass arrow from the quiver and put the notch of the arrow on the bowstring. “Now hold that. I gotta get something else.” He sprinted down the gulley and came back up with a faded pizza box. He grabbed a broken branch and impaled the box into the Styrofoam. “There you go. Something to aim at. Like a buck or a trespasser coming through your front lawn.” He laughed. “Who am I kidding? We’d blow them away with buckshot, wouldn’t we?” He slapped Jeremy on the back.

“Sure,” Jeremy said with a forced smile, but Mr. Cooper wasn’t paying attention.

“Alright son, aim at the pizza box and pull it back.”

Eddie squared up the sights and pulled as hard as he could, the string barely going back.

“Keep it steady. Come on now. Pull, goddammit, pull.”

Carrie let out a gasp.

Mr. Cooper glared at her and then Jeremy and Michael. “Bible thumpers are you? Jesus, Paul, and Mary.” Mr. Cooper shook his head and turned his attention back to Eddie who continued to struggle with the compound bow.

“Come on, son. You’re pathetic. You can’t do nothing worth nothing.”

Eddie strained harder, his face turning red as beads of sweat formed around his temples.

“Give it to me. I’ll show you…show you
all
how a real man shoots an arrow,” Eddie’s father said, reaching for the bow.

Eddie released the bowstring with the few inches of pull he had achieved. The arrow shot out ten yards before sliding into the rocks and dirt in front of the target.

“Go get that arrow you just ruined.” Mr. Cooper said, grabbing the bow. While Eddie ran to fetch the arrow, he notched another arrow into it… “Y’all watch this,” he said to his visitors. “I’ll show you how it is done.” He pulled the compound bow all the way back with a hint of effort and shouted, “Hit the deck, boy.”

Eddie dove to the ground, lying as flat as possible. His eyes squeezed shut. The arrow flew above him and impaled the upper edge of the foam with a thwap sound. The shot missed the pizza box by several feet.

Carrie had grabbed Jeremy’s hand. She looked at him wide-eyed, imploring him to do something. Mr. Cooper pulled back another arrow, aimed lower, and released. The arrow zoomed inches over Eddie’s head, still missing the pizza box.

“Dammit, these sights are off,” he said, adjusting the brass knobs on the bow. Eddie sprinted back with the arrow. He was pale and shaking slightly. Mr. Cooper peered up from the bow. “What are you doing back here with just one arrow? Go get the other two sticking in the foam.”

“B…but…”

“I said, go get the other two arrows, or do you want me to tan your hide in front of your little friends?”

“I…”

“What is it? A whippin’, or are you going to get me them arrows?”

Eddie stared at his father with fury and hate.

“You think you’re tough, don’t you, boy? Giving me a look like that.” He reached for Eddie, but his son stepped back.

“I’m getting them, okay?”

“What did you say?”

“I’m getting them, sir.”

Eddie dashed to the arrows. Mr. Cooper notched an arrow and aimed at Eddie as he struggled to pull the arrows out of the foam.

“Don’t!” Carrie screamed.

“This is my house, and I aim at whoever I damn well please.” He turned, aiming the bow at the three of them. They screamed and dove to the ground. Mr. Cooper laughed. “Little children. That’s all you are. Pathetic.”

He spat, dropped the bow on the ground, and walked away. Jeremy held Carrie who shook uncontrollably. Michael was crying and had a wet spot in the center of his pants. Mr. Cooper started up his truck and backed out of the drive, kicking up dirt. Eddie sauntered up with the arrows and shoved them into the quiver.

“Ya’ll shouldn’t have said anything. He’ll be in a foul temper after he’s done drinking.”

“I need to go home,” Carrie said.

Eddie narrowed his eyes. “It’s easy for you to go home to your nice mansions and not worry about nothing.” He spat on the ground exactly like his father. “You’re all pathetic.” He strode into his house, his head held up.

Less than an hour after the parents picked up their children from the Coopers’ and the frantic phone calls that followed, the three families assembled at the Rogers’ house. Michael, Carrie, and Jeremy sat on a couch while the adults surrounded them, asking questions about Eddie’s birthday party. Then the parents moved into the kitchen where they deliberated for several minutes. They came back to their children with two rules: none of them were allowed to speak to Eddie, and they would never go over to his house ever again. At school on Monday, rumors circulated that Eddie’s father had shot apples off their heads and killed one of the sisters. Eddie didn’t say a word to them that day and very few for years afterwards. He just glared at them with brimming hate, as if they knew his dirty secret.

6. VIOLENCE

As they drove closer to the Coopers, Jeremy’s stomach twisted into knots, and the nausea began to overwhelm him. He knew he was going to puke. As they turned on the dirt road, Jeremy knew he wouldn’t be a part of this mob, and he felt a violent upsurge.

“Pull over. I gotta puke.”

The truck hadn’t completely stopped when the passengers bounded out and Jeremy tumbled head first to the ground where he hurled and heaved, wrenching out everything in his stomach, including air. A couple of minutes later he saw a circle of boots and tennis shoes.

“Looks like Rogers couldn’t hold his booze down,” Randy said.

There was some muffled laughter. Kevin knelt down, putting a hand on Jeremy’s shoulder. “You okay?”

Jeremy shook his head. “I can’t do this. Go on without me,” he whispered.

“Why don’t you get in the truck and rest? We’ll do our thing.”

Jeremy shook his head again. “No, I don’t want to go. I’ll walk home.”

“What are you talking about? It’s five miles or more.”

“I can do it.”

“We ain’t going to do much to Crazy Eddie, you know,” Kevin whispered. “Just harass him a little.”

“I’m not going,” Jeremy said, turning to look at Kevin in the eye.

“Suit yourself,” Kevin said, rising. He addressed the group. “Looks like Jeremy doesn’t have it in him—”

“Literally,” somebody said.

“We’re leaving him here. He wants it that way. Let’s keep going. Crazy Eddie’s at the end of the road. Let’s show that smartass what’s what.”

There were more whoops and hollers as the boys piled back into their trucks. A few of them taunted Jeremy out the windows.

“Man up, Rogers.”

“Wuss,” Randy shouted.

Jeremy waited, still prone, watching over his shoulder at the trucks speeding down the road, kicking up dust, as their lights shrank into the distance. With a deep inhale, he stood, brushed off, and walked towards the main road. It was going to be a long walk after a long day of work, but he wasn’t going to be a part of a mob. Eddie had been through too much, and he wouldn’t take a beat down like other guys would. He’d be unpredictable, not giving up when he should, only to get pounded even worse.

Jeremy stepped on the paved road when he heard the first shot. It was followed by dozens more. A cold sweat broke out on Jeremy’s face. He was nowhere near civilization, but he sprinted into the darkness, running as hard as he ever had. His heart thumped wildly. Something bad happened, something evil.

Jeremy staggered to the Quick ’N Go convenience store with a painful stitch in his side. He saw Shirley, a middle-aged lady who knew almost everybody in Clover, behind the register reading a magazine. He was relieved she didn’t look up when he fumbled with the receiver of an outdoor telephone. He had planned to call 911, but already heard sirens in the distance. Jeremy dialed and was grateful Gary, his father, answered instead of his mother.

“Coming home? Your mother is watching the clock. Ten minutes till curfew.”

“Can you pick me up at the Quick ’N Go? I don’t have a ride.”

There was a pause over the line. “Everything okay?”

Jeremy trembled. “Sure. Fine. Can you pick me up? But not with mom.”

After another pause Gary said, “Ok, I’ll be there in a couple of minutes.”

Jeremy hung up, shivering in cold sweat.

Jeremy dry heaved in the shadows of darkness behind the store. He had seen a sheriff’s cruiser fly past, followed by highway patrol, and then two ambulances, and knew the worst had happened. He thought of Crazy Eddie, his mother, and his sisters, all slaughtered. Maybe it was Randy or Trevor who did it. They got knocked down and retaliated with gunfire. Maybe both sides shot at each other. Several shots had been fired. Was it from the same gun or different ones? Jeremy couldn’t remember the exact sounds of the popping gunfire. And when he had run down the road, he had thought he heard even more shots, or had that been a hallucination—half drunk, light headed, empty stomach—he wondered if any of his memories were valid. It seemed impossible that he had been toiling on a roof earlier in the day.

Jeremy stayed in the dark shadows. When Gary pulled up in the family Oldsmobile, Jeremy felt an urge to stay hidden, but trudged to the car.

“You have anything to do with all this commotion?” Gary asked after Jeremy buckled up.

“Sort of.”

Another sheriff’s cruiser flew past. Gary studied his son. “What is it? Do we need to go to the police?”

“Maybe, but not now.” Jeremy held back tears. “I don’t know what happened. I left before…whatever happened.”

Gary waited while his son inhaled and exhaled. “Tell me what you know,” he said in a soft voice. “Besides talking to the police, you need to have your story straight for your mother.”

Jeremy sighed. “I didn’t do anything, but I sort of did…”

*

Jeremy told Gary everything that had happened, including the beer drinking. Everything except the directions he gave to the Cooper house. That was something he couldn’t tell anybody. The story was then abbreviated for Gail, not mentioning the beer.

“I told you that you’re never allowed to go to the Coopers. Never.” Her hands were planted on her hips.

“I got out of the truck before they got there.”

“And you don’t know what happened?”

“I heard a lot of gunshots. And none of those guys’ trucks left.”

“I told you to stay away from there. Do you ever listen?” She shook her head.

“Can it, Gail,” Gary said. “He did the right thing and walked away from a bad situation before it got any worse. That’s better than most boys, so give him a break.”