The Troll Whisperer (8 page)

They said nothing as Jeremy puffed away. It
wasn’t even puffing tonight, actually— he was sucking it down so
fast that Oscar could hear the burn of the paper. As soon as he was
finished, he reached for another one.

Oscar plucked it out of his hand. “Uh-uh. We
have a pool game to finish. Do you really want to find out how
Crazy Mike got his nickname? ’Cause I’d be happy to have that
remain a mystery.”

Jeremy took the cigarette back. Without
looking at Oscar, he lit it and stared into the street, as if Oscar
wasn’t even there.

Oscar watched him for another moment. “So am
I gonna have to beat it out of you or what?”

Jeremy finally turned his head. “Beat what
out of me?”

“Whatever’s eating you,” Oscar said.

Jeremy took another long inhale. “My mom’s
back in jail.”

“Well, shit,” Oscar said. “That sucks, man.”
Jeremy’s mom had been in and out of prison since Jeremy was five—
mostly drug charges, a burglary here and there. He’d never met his
dad, or even knew who he was. Jeremy had been raised by his
grandmother, who died when he was twelve. Jeremy was placed in
foster care, which was right around the time Oscar and his friends
thought it would be hilarious to start picking on him. He’d been
such a skinny, weird kid, but he’d never let anyone get to him.
Jeremy was tough— not like a blowhard bully, which was all Oscar
was at the time. Jeremy had true grit, calloused by the world so
hard that there was no way the stings of some middle school
jackasses could hurt him.

By chance, Oscar happened to overhear two
teachers talking about Jeremy’s situation. After that, Oscar called
his friends off. There were limits to how mean he could be.
Besides, there was something about Jeremey that Oscar identified
with, even when he was tormenting him. It wasn’t until later that
he realized what it was: they both had secrets. Jeremy’s secret was
his mom. Oscar’s secret was that he was gay. They went from enemies
to best friends in the space of a week, which took all of Oscar’s
other friends by complete surprise. But Oscar was their leader, and
like good soldiers, they all fell in line.

Jeremy gave a half-laugh. “Yeah, well, she
lasted a full six months this time. I think that’s a record.”

“I thought she had found Jesus.”

“I guess she lost him,” Jeremy said. “He’s
probably somewhere in the back drawer with her self-respect and
maternal instincts.”

Oscar spat. “Fuck her. She’s a stupid,
selfish, junkie asshole, and her dumb ass belongs in jail. You
shouldn’t talk to her, man. Seriously. You don’t have to take her
calls. You don’t have to see her. You don’t owe her anything.”

Jeremy wrapped one arm around himself as if
he was cold. “I know. But she’s my mom. She’s all I got.”

Oscar punched him lightly in the arm. “You’ve
got me too, dickface.”

Jeremy smiled a little and punched him back.
“Yeah, I know.”

Jeremy kept on with his cigarette, but a
little of the tension had left his shoulders. He blew out a
mouthful of smoke and gave Oscar an appraising look. “So I told you
what’s up with me. Your turn.”

“What do you mean?” Oscar grunted. “There’s
nothing up with me.”

“Yeah, there is. You’ve been in a good mood.
Like, a really good mood.”

“So what?”

“Oscar,” Jeremy said. “This is you we’re
talking about. You are never in that good of a mood.” Jeremy ashed
his cigarette. “And you smell like laundry soap.”

Oscar could feel the heat in his cheeks. Good
thing that some sad-ass Christmas lights were the only lighting.
“I’m surprised you can smell anything with how much you smoke.”

Jeremy refused to be distracted. “Are you
seeing someone?”

“No,” Oscar lied immediately. After a beat,
he confessed: “Maybe.”

Jeremy gave him one of his goofy smiles.
“Cool. Like me and Crystal.”

Oscar felt a little stab of guilt. How long
had Jeremy put off dating just because Oscar was allergic to it?
“Are you guys maybe dating or for real dating?”

Jeremy shrugged. “I dunno. Just seeing each
other, I guess. We just talk and stuff. She’s really cool, though.
We should all hang out sometime.”

“Yeah, sure.”

Jeremy paused. “Like, maybe you and your guy
and me and Crystal could all go out to dinner or something.”

Alarm bells started going off in his head.
Jeremy definitely could not meet Noah— he’d realize right away that
he was the dude from that link he sent him. “No!” Oscar exclaimed.
Jeremy gave him a funny look. He took a breath to calm down. “I
mean, it’s not like that. He’s just some guy I met who does my
laundry, and we suck each other’s dicks. We don’t even leave his
apartment.”

“Oh.” Jeremy looked disappointed. “Yeah,
okay.” He got to his feet. “Maybe we should go finish that game
now.”

They went inside. They ended up losing a lot
of money to Crazy Mike, but that was okay, because apparently Crazy
Mike got his nickname for not collecting winnings from bets he’d
made. Jeremy proceeded to get shitfaced, even more so than usual.
Oscar was probably going to have to drag him home. He got out his
phone to find an Uber driver, but Jeremy already had his phone out.
Oscar tried to take it from him, because he was only going to
embarrass himself, but Jeremy pushed him away.

“No!” he slurred, pushing Oscar away. “Gotta
call Crystal. She said to call, so ’m gonna call.”

Oscar left him to it; there wasn’t much he
could do to stop him. As soon as Crystal picked up the phone,
Jeremy began weeping incoherently. No one at the bar paid any
attention; incoherent weeping was a regular occurrence. After he
babbled for a few minutes, he held up the phone to Oscar.

“She wanna to talk to you.”

Oscar hesitantly accepted the phone.
“Hello?”

“Hi,” said the woman who was presumably
Crystal. “I’m coming to pick you guys up. Wait for me in front of
the bar?”

“Sure,” Oscar said, still a little taken
aback.

Oscar led Jeremy outside, where they sat down
at the curb. After about fifteen minutes, a beat-up station wagon
pulled in front of the bar. The car was put into park, but left
running. The driver got out. She was a tall, skinny woman with wavy
hair that hung to her shoulders. It was difficult to tell the color
in the low light— not quite brown, but not quite blonde either. Big
hoop earrings hung from her ears. Oscar recognized her vaguely from
that night at the bar weeks ago. “Hi, Crystal.”

“Hello yourself,” she replied. “I don’t think
we were properly introduced the last time we met.”

“And yet you still left me with a $75 bar
tab.”

She raised one thin eyebrow. “No,” she said.
“That was all him. I don’t drink.” As Oscar absorbed that, she
opened the door to the backseat. “Come on, help me get him in.”

Jeremy was beyond awareness at that point—
not quite passed out but pretty damn close. They got him in.
Crystal went back to the driver’s side. “So, you coming or
not?”

Oscar shrugged. Why not?

“I guess you know the way to Jeremy’s place,”
Oscar said once he was in the car.

“Yup. Where do you live?”

“Close. Just down the street, actually.”

“You want me to drop you off first?”

“No, I want to make sure he gets home
okay.”

She raised her eyebrow again. “Don’t you
trust me?”

“I don’t know you,” Oscar said. “I mean, I’m
sure you’d do a great job, but we have a routine.”

That eyebrow stayed on its perch. “A
routine,” she repeated.

“Yeah. I get his pants off and put him to
bed, wait until either an hour’s gone by or he’s stopped puking—
whichever comes first— and then I prop him on his side with some
blankets so he doesn’t choke on his own vomit, in case he’s not
done. Then I get a big bottle of Gatorade and some Advil and put
them on his bedside table, and then I throw away his cigarettes and
his lighter, and then I go home.”

“That seems pretty complicated,” she said.
“Have you ever considered just taking him to an AA meeting? That
would be a lot easier.”

Oscar scowled. She was one of ITthoseALICS.
“What were you doing in a bar if you don’t approve of
drinking?”

“I was chasing down a woman I was sponsoring.
Jesus, you really were hammered that night.”

He was about to tell her he didn’t usually
get that drunk, but he didn’t want to sound defensive. “So is that
what you’re doing with him?
Sponsoring
?”

“No.”

“So you’ve got some kind of savior complex,
then.”

“I like him, so I’m helping him out. It’s not
complicated.”

“He doesn’t need your pity.”

“That’s great, because I don’t pity him.” She
sighed. “Look. I’m not here to scold either of you. I think he
needs help, and I’ve told him that. I also told him that I don’t
get into relationships with people who aren’t sober, but like I
said, I like him a lot, and I’m willing to wait around a little to
see if he gets himself together.”

“Right, so you’re going to wave your tits at
him until he’s a good boy,” he said. “I bet you can even teach him
to sit and stay if you wave something else.”

Crystal didn’t act offended. “Interesting
strategy,” she said. “Immediately alienating people so you don’t
have to engage with them in a meaningful way. How’s that working
out for you?”

Oscar crossed his arms over his chest and
slumped in his seat, scowling.

They soon arrived at Jeremy’s apartment
complex, which was somehow even more of a dump than Oscar’s. They
got him out of the car, each slinging one of his arms over their
shoulders. Oscar got his bed ready while Crystal took him to the
bathroom to puke. Oscar looked in on them. She tucked his hair back
as he vomited, but it wasn’t tender, exactly. It was just something
someone had to do so he didn’t get puke in his hair, and she was
the one there to do it.

Afterward, Crystal brought Jeremy over to the
bed. Oscar took over from there; she was surprisingly strong for
her twig-like build, but he knew Jeremy could get real heavy when
he was like this. He lowered him to the bed, took off his shoes,
and pulled off his jeans. Oscar fished the cigarettes out of his
pocket and stuck them in his own. He arranged Jeremy on his side,
as usual. Jeremy mumbled some nonsense and then passed out
completely.

Jeremy’s apartment was a studio, so there
wasn’t really anywhere to retreat. The apartment was as sad as
Oscar’s, but in a different way. It was almost completely empty
except for the mattress in the center of the room and an old TV on
a stand. There was also an old card table and one folding chair on
the other side of the room. Oscar took the chair while Crystal
hopped up to sit on the table.

Now that they were in better lighting, Oscar
got a much better look at her. She was beautiful. Oscar wondered
why he hadn’t noticed. Since he was not even remotely into girls,
their looks often failed to make an impression on him, but Crystal
wasn’t just pretty. She was the kind of beautiful that stops you in
your tracks on the street— not out of desire, but out of surprise
for the reminder that people like that don’t solely live on the
covers of magazines. Maybe she would have ended up there except for
how freckled she was— they peppered her face and arms so thickly,
it was like someone scattershot her with chocolate chips. But the
more he looked at her he could see something else— pock marks. The
freckles kind of hid them and they were pretty faded, but she had a
few deep ones on her cheeks and on her arms. She was wearing a
low-cut tank top, which exposed more freckles, more scars. The
strangest scar was on her collarbone. It was a circle with a cross—
not a Christian cross. More like a target, or a compass. It
certainly wasn’t a natural injury— someone had carved it there. It
would be completely inappropriate for Oscar to ask what had
happened.

“So,” Oscar said, pointing at the scar.
“How’d you get that?”

“This?” She brushed the scar with her
fingers.

“Yeah.”

“I carved it there.”

“Why?”

She shrugged. “I was tweaking pretty hard at
the time. I think it was supposed to be like crosshairs— you know,
like with a sniper rifle. I was inviting the world to take a
shot.”

Her honesty left Oscar flummoxed. It was so
personal. Then again, she was just answering Oscar’s question.
Since she didn’t seem bothered by his bluntness, he decided to keep
at it. “So you were a tweaker.”

“Sometimes. I was more of a buffet drug user—
a little of this, a lot of that. I’ve been sober for six years,
though.”

Oscar thought about it for a minute. “Wait—
you’re like, what, my age? If you got sober six years ago, that
means you were eighteen or nineteen. When did you start using
drugs?”

“I was about fifteen.”

Oscar didn’t consider himself easily shocked,
but ITAdamnLICS. “How’d that happen?”