Frankie Dorman and I had just met him in the field earlier that afternoon. Mid-August. Two weeks before school, and a week before we were to start football double sessions. He had come down the hill to the field from the school on the other side of the woods. Walking in long strides, his chest jutted forward like a man on a mission. He wore bell-bottom jeans and cowboy boots. Heavy clothes for such a hot day. Dorman and I sat on the bench of the baseball diamond smoking cigarettes in the hot sun. It was that kind of summer and we were bored.<\/p>\n
The field was on the other side of a small stretch of woods which separated it from my parents\u2019 yard and my father\u2019s garden, and the baseball diamond was just used for farm league kids and hadn\u2019t been really kept up in years. No backstop and no real pitcher\u2019s mound, the grass closing in on all sides, and home plate buried deep enough that kids wouldn\u2019t waste the energy trying to dig it up when they came down to party.<\/p>\n
His real name was Tony, but he told us to call him Buck. He had bright red hair, orange really\u2014looking dyed\u2014a little bit of a mustache and goatee. A leather vest and wallet on chain, a tattoo on his neck, and an earring. One gold loop. He looked a little like a pirate. He must of been in his late twenties, maybe even thirty, and Dorman and I were about to start our sophomore year of high school.<\/p>\n
Buck grimaced a little as he hitched up the legs of his jeans and took a seat on the bench beside us.<\/p>\n
\u201cThese boots cost me seventy-five dollars, soldiers.\u201d He pulled a bottle from a bag, unscrewed the top, and took long pull before grimacing again, and shaking his head theatrically as he admired the label.<\/p>\n
\u201cThere\u2019s only one rose,\u201d he said, \u201cAnd that\u2019s the Wild Irish one.\u201d<\/p>\n
Dorman and I just looked at him. He spread his knees wide, and tilted his head back, his eyes shut to the sun. \u201cI\u2019ve been working on this tan all summer,\u201d he said. \u201cI\u2019m the only Italian I know who can\u2019t get a tan.\u201d He glanced about the field. \u201cThese used to be my old stomping grounds, boys. A lot of memories down here. A lot of memories.\u201d<\/p>\n
He finished the bottle and made a sound of satisfaction, before studying it, and then pitching it, spinning neck over bottom, into the center of the diamond. He lit a cigarette and rolled up his sleeve a bit, exposing a tattoo of a cartoonish woman\u2014wide hips, an incredibly small waist, and big breasts barely covered by a low-cut tank top. She had one eye shut as if winking, had her lips pursed in a kiss, and she wore a sailor\u2019s cap at an angle. He glanced down at the tattoo himself and then ran his fingers gently over the picture.<\/p>\n
\u201cHer name was Jessaline. And I loved her,\u201d he said, shutting his eyes, grimacing, as if the pain were too much. \u201cGod, I loved her. That fucking bitch!\u201d<\/p>\n
Dorman looked at the tattoo. His eyes were alight, and he looked amused, suppressing a smile. \u201cShe was in the Navy?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI was in the Navy. And she was in the USO.\u201d Buck belched, placing both hands on his knees. \u201cCame over on a helicopter with Bob Hope, and um\u2026 Soupy Sales or some mother fucker like that and loved me. Loved me up!\u201d \u00a0he said slapping my knee.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou were in a war?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n
He looked at me, baring his yellow teeth in the bright sun. The sun felt hotter now, and a sweat had broken on his brow. \u201cI was in three of the mother fuckers.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou don\u2019t look old enough to have been in three wars; you still look like a baby.\u201d I knew I was being a wise ass, but I was hoping to get a laugh out of Dorman. I loved to get laughs out of Dorman. We had been best friends for five or six years. Played football together and were both in the honors program.<\/p>\n
He didn\u2019t do as well in school as I did, but despite the cigarettes, he was the best athlete in our grade, captain of three sports, and girls all loved him. And I envied that\u2014something I always wished I could be. Despite being on the football team, I was never much of an athlete.<\/p>\n
But there was one thing I was pretty good at, and that was making him laugh. There were a few guys like Buck, his age, who wandered down the field like this once in a while, all has beens with no real histories, and definitely no futures.<\/p>\n
Our town was small, middle-class and suburban, not a lot of super wealth, but also not a ton of poverty or crime, and so when a guy like Buck strolled down the street people noticed. And so far the day had been uneventful, so I really think we just wanted to have a little fun with him. It had been a long summer, and summer was fading, the grass of the field yellow, brittle and dead, and the diamond nothing but dust. Heat ripples in the air.<\/p>\n
Buck leaned towards me and slapped my shoulder. \u201cCovert operations. Uncle Sam put the big boys in my hands and sent me all over the world! \u00a0I\u2019ve killed more people than I\u2019d care to admit, gentlemen. Innocent people, and soldiers and spys, all casualties, and all in the name of the Red, White and Blue. To keep you safe.\u201d He looked into the distance and shook his head a bit. \u201cMore than I\u2019d care to admit,\u201d he said again.<\/p>\n
\u201cBut you just did,\u201d said Dorman.<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd I hope Jessaline didn\u2019t mind you being a murderer, and all,\u201d I said. I could hear Dorman chuckling beside me and could feel a fluttering in my chest. A rush of sorts. We both came from a big families, and so were used to giving it and taking it ourselves. I had six siblings, but Dorman had something like twelve or thirteen of them. I don\u2019t even know. He had a much older brother who was in the service, another brother was Ivy League, all scholastic and an athlete himself, and a third brother was in prison, but I wasn\u2019t clear on why. Dorman had bunch of sisters, too, one or two pretty successful, one was a nurse, I think, and one lived in a crack shack in Brockton, and some just spouted out more kids. And then there was Dorman. All in all, it was quite a mix. My own family was a little more homogenous. You went to school, went to Mass every Sunday, whether you liked it or not, made the sacraments, blew out birthday candles each year on your day, finished high school and went to college, and that was that\u2014there was no arguing other options.<\/p>\n
\u201cThat woman would\u2019ve loved me if I had emptied six rounds into the Pope and dragged his body behind my chariot through Saint Thomas\u2019s Square,\u201d Buck said now.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019ll go to hell for talking that way,\u201d I said, \u201cYou and your chariot. And where the hell is Saint Thomas\u2019s Square?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s in Rome,\u201d said Dorman. \u201cThe Vatican.\u201d<\/p>\n
Buck tapped his finger against his temple. \u201cHe\u2019s smarter than you, Corporal, smarter than you.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHe never finished second grade,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n
Buck looked at me with one eye shut, focusing. \u201cRemember Corporal, smart guys don\u2019t stay too smart, not for long, when they step out of line around their superiors, Corporal. \u00a0Now I think you should remember that. The CIA taught old Buck here to dispatch and dispose of a body without a trace using nothing more than a short tube of hose and Zippo lighter. All within ten minutes time. No trace. Do we understand each other, Corporal?\u201d<\/p>\n
I nodded a bit, suppressing a laugh myself, but also a little bit nervous. He was a lot older, and considerably bigger. And I was betting he was a hell of a lot stronger\u2014if he could get hold of me anyway. After a moment, he pulled his wallet–still attached to the chain–out of his back pocket, opened it, and sighed. \u201cIt looks like that young lass just may have got the best of me last night after she handcuffed me to the bed. I had two fifties, six tens, five and four ones, and now it appears I am a bit short.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHow much you got?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n
\u201cNot a thing, Corporal. I believe she left me without a dime. If I had known I was paying her for her work,\u201d he bared his teeth again, \u201cAnd a professional, she was. I would have spent a bit more time browsing the menu if you know what I\u2019m saying.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI know what you\u2019re saying,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n
\u201cHe visits prostitutes all the time,\u201d said Dorman.<\/p>\n
Buck took a deep breath. \u2018Now. Let\u2019s get down to the business at hand. I don\u2019t suppose you soldiers could spare a few dollars which I will return with fifteen percent interest come next Tuesday. Specifically, two dollars and seventy-five cents should just do the trick.\u201d<\/p>\n
We didn\u2019t have $2.75, but I had a dollar bill, and Dorman had a few nickels and two pennies, so we gave that to him. He stretched the dollar bill out and stared at it a moment, as if thinking, or willing it to multiply, and then he put his hands on his thighs and rose up off the bench. \u201cWhere there is a will, there is a way,\u201d he said. \u201cAnd as MacArthur said\u2014’I shall return.\u2019\u201d<\/p>\n
We watched him go, walking with long strides again, but just slightly off balance, as he passed the posts at the end of the road with the wire running between to keep cars from driving down the field and stone block from what had been a bubbler when I was small. I noticed now he had bald spot on the crown of his head, burnt red from the sun. The sun had breached the tops of the trees in the west, and the heat was beginning to subside. In the distance, a couple of kids our age were bouncing a basketball on the other side of the field in the shade of a large apple tree on the outskirts of the small swamp with the long cat tails and clumps of marsh grass.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
When I was small, the town would flood the swamp in the winter so kids could skate once it froze over. It had been several years since they had done that though, and once while watching farm league baseball game I had heard one adult say to another that they had stopped doing it to keep out the punks. A shame, the man had said, arms folded and baseball cap pulled down tight above his eyes, and then he had turned and spit a wad of tobacco on the lawn. \u201cToo many of them.\u201d<\/p>\n
I hadn\u2019t noticed the kids over at the court come down, so they must\u2019ve done so while we were talking to Buck, distracted. One looked like Pumpkinhead Fred\u2014bad, crooked teeth and skinny\u00a0as a rail, his clothes much too big\u2014and one looked like The Outlaw Marlon Shores. Both Pumpkinhead and the Outlaw were a year behind us, but I think the Outlaw had stayed back at least once or twice. He wore a Dutch boy hair cut, bangs straight across, and was pretty jacked up\u2014liked to lift weights, and had biceps as big as grapefruits. He always wore a tight plain red pocket T-shirts, nothing more, summer or winter. \u00a0Now he started dribbling the basketball with both hands. He passed it to Pumpkinhead, and Pumpkinhead did a lay up. Chances were good, since it was still summer, I thought, that there would be a few more kids down within the hour, and maybe enough for a game later on.<\/p>\n
Dorman spit into the dust. \u201cDo you think he\u2019s coming back?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cProbably depends on whether the cops spot him or how far he has to walk to get the rest of that two dollars and seventy-five cents.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat does that buy him?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAnother bottle of Wild Irish Rose, I\u2019m guessing. That stuff is almost as bad as Mad Dog 20\/20. Remember that time we drank Mad Dog?\u201d<\/p>\n
Dorman nodded. \u201cI puked for close to a day.\u201d<\/p>\n
I laughed. \u201cI crawled home for about a mile in the snow and nearly froze to death. Then I was grounded for two weeks.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThat\u2019s right, I remember that,\u201d Dorman said. \u201cYou\u2019d think he\u2019d be able to handle more than we could, though. My old man doesn\u2019t go sideways until he\u2019s drank a twelve pack of Schlitz and half a handle of Old Granddad. Sometimes more.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYour old man probably weights three hundred and fifty pounds though,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n
Dorman spit. \u201cThree seventy-five. Fat Bastard\u201d<\/p>\n
A couple hours later, the court was hopping, and there was a radio blaring in the corner of the pavement. I had gone home for dinner\u2014my mother had made BLTs\u2014my younger sister mangled her sandwich as she ate, pieces of bread and tomato dropping to her plate as she chewed, and my little brother, dressed up like Rambo, was complaining about upcoming soccer practice. I punched him once in the arm, and he snarled at me and told me he hated me before I headed back out, my mother reminding me that despite being summer, it was still a weeknight.<\/p>\n
Buck had apparently come back from his quest for the Wild Irish Rose, and now sat flat on his ass in the corner of the court as I came out of the trees and back into the field. There were already enough kids for a five-on-five, a few of them more into it than the others.<\/p>\n
Toad Davis, short and hunched with big feet and big hands\u2014he looked like Toad from the Frog and Toad books–was all over the court going in for one layup after the other, and as I sat down, Goose Arnold\u2014all arms and legs, a leather vest, shirtless beneath, an earring in his left ear and a bandana tight around his head, longish wavy hair, parted in the middle, a cigarette dangling from his lips\u2014was trying to block him out. Toad despite his stature, was pretty good though, and he went right under and up.<\/p>\n
Dorman was playing, too, his hair clinging to his face with sweat, and he was dominating the game. He rarely went home for supper, and I got the impression that it was even rarer that anything was on the table. \u00a0Buck stood, staggering, and wandered over to the radio. Leaned over to change the station. Spinning the dial, static crackling through the dusk. The air felt electric and warm, the way it only can in the evening in late summer, when there\u2019s always a possibility of a storm coming down from the sky. The woods on the other side of the field were already blurring into the haze of dusk, and the school at the top of the hill gone from view. That afternoon, sitting on the bench with Dorman in the bright sunshine, the field empty, already seemed like days, if not weeks, ago, and I wasn\u2019t exactly sure why.<\/p>\n
Goose Arnold turned to Buck. \u201cDon\u2019t touch my fuckin radio,\u201d he said with a stutter on the second word. He stuttered a lot, and it made him angry. He carried the boombox up on his shoulder, walking all over town. He was older than us, out of high school, and was always trying to pick up the girls our age. Luring them into his car with coke. The radio had been on 94.5, WCOZ. It was the only station that Goose Arnold allowed on it if he didn\u2019t have a new cassette tape he was playing. Usually Rush, or something like that. Tom Sawyer. The boombox was state of the art.<\/p>\n
But Buck either didn\u2019t hear him or didn\u2019t care, and Goose Arnold snapped again. \u201cI said don\u2019t touch my fucking radio!\u201d Goose stormed away from the game and went over and picked up the boombox. \u201cYou have no business touching this,\u201d he stuttered. \u201cI say don\u2019t touch it, that means don\u2019t fucking touch. I don\u2019t care how shitoed you are.\u201d<\/p>\n
The game had stopped for a minute. Buck leaning forward, his legs slightly spread and bent at the knee to help keep his balance, shut one eye to focus. Then he pushed his tongue between his lips and raspberried Goose.<\/p>\n
In the corner of the court, not playing, stood a kid who had just started coming down to the field a few weeks earlier. Fat Ed. I didn\u2019t know his full name, or even really how old he was. He either wasn\u2019t from our town or had just moved there\u2014I forgot which. He was kinda fat, but not out of control. \u00a0He did have a big belly, and his hair was long, and stringy and halfway down his back. He wore a bandana wrapped around his head like a sweatband.<\/p>\n
Steel-toe boots and a Black Sabbath belt buckle. A face spotted with acne. He was smoking a cigarette and drinking a beer and watching Buck. He didn\u2019t play basketball on the court, and I couldn\u2019t picture him trying. He had come down with Trevor, a.k.a, Bunny McFarland. Bunny looked like a Bunny, albeit a dirty little one. A small button nose, and overlapping buck teeth, and stringy hair, parted on the side, down to his shoulders. McFarland was my mother\u2019s maiden name, and because of that Bunny said we were practically like brothers. He dealt a lot of pot, and was always sparking a joint. Bunny had just moved to Willington from the crumbling once famous shoe city next door, full of tales of whores and drug busts, and scaling collapsing, rusting fire escapes to break into third floor apartments with no bars on the windows.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019ve never done a B&E?\u201d he asked me once. \u201cYou\u2019ve got to be kidding? What the fuck?\u201d he dragged on the joint we were sharing.<\/p>\n
\u201cThat\u2019s where the money is at, Max. Big Dollars.\u201d Now Bunny lived with his mother and three older brothers in a two-bedroom apartment in an old splintering A frame across the street from the Island Grove Pond. He had gone to school for a month or so the year before after moving into town, but quickly began skipping, and then as soon as he turned sixteen, he quit all together. \u201cI got permission,\u201d he said, \u201cmy mother\u2019s no fool. Why waste time like that? \u00a0I can just get my G.E.D.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI thought it was G.I.D.,\u201d I had said.<\/p>\n
Bunny looked at me questioningly. \u201cG.I.D,\u00a0 what\u2019s that?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cGeneral Imbecile\u2019s Diploma.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThat\u2019s bullshit, Max,\u201d he snapped, \u201cA G.E.D. is all you need. And you know it. You think you\u2019re better than everybody, but I got news for you\u2014you\u2019re not. Why waste your time in school? It\u2019s just for retards. Smart people want to get one with their lives. I\u2019m going to work and make some dollars. My brother Mike promised me he\u2019s going to get me a job car detailing next month.\u201d He dragged on the joint again, the side canoeing as he did.<\/p>\n
\u201cThat\u2019s where all the money is at\u2014car detailing. He quit school before he was even sixteen, and now he\u2019s rolling in the dough. Loaded. He\u2019s got so much money he just leaves piles of cash hanging around the house in candy dishes. Any of us can take some whenever we want.\u201d<\/p>\n
His brother Mike was much older, so I almost asked why he was still living at home at twenty-seven then, sharing a room with his other three brothers, but I decided to let it go, kept my mouth shut. Now Bunny was at halfcourt, playing guard, the ball beneath his fingers when Buck scurried out, stole the ball from him, and started dribbling it, stooped over, and concentrating hard like a first or second grade kid who had been thrown a basketball for the first time. He raised the ball and took a shot, but it didn\u2019t go anywhere near the net. \u00a0Dorman was catching his breath, his hands on his hips.<\/p>\n
Buck tried to scurry to get his own rebound, but Toad beat him to it, swiping the ball away, smiling, one canine tooth biting down upon his lower lip.<\/p>\n
\u201cThat\u2019s it for your Kemoosabe. Back to the minors.\u201d Buck tried to steal the ball back from him, but Toad was too fast. He passed it to Reggie Finneran who then hit Goose going in for the layup. Goose got his own rebound, dribbling. \u00a0Buck staggered a little more, and then straightened up and belched. \u00a0\u201cGet him off the fucking court,\u201d Goose said, \u201cthis is getting ridiculous. The dude is fucking wasted. Fucking moron.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cEasy Clyde,\u201d said Toad, \u201che\u2019s not a bad egg\u2014he\u2019s just had one too many Shirley Temples, haven\u2019t you pal?\u201d he said to Buck, looking on the verge of laughter, dribbling the ball from left hand to right.<\/p>\n
\u201cShirley Temple,\u201d Buck slurred, grinning. \u201cI ate her pussy.\u201d He flicked his tongue out like a snakes and then began making slurping noises.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou can go to jail for that shit,\u201d the Outlaw said. Someone had found a baseball bat, leftover by the Little League kids, in the tall grass, and the Outlaw was picking apples, half rotten, up off the grass and hitting them across the field. \u201cIt\u2019s disgusting.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cFor eating Shirley Temple?\u201d Toad asked.<\/p>\n
\u201cYah,\u201d the Outlaw said. \u201cShe\u2019s a little kid.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDude,\u201d said Toad, dribbling the ball again, \u201cShe\u2019s like sixty-five years old. She\u2019s as old as my grandmother.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThat must be a different one,\u201d the Outlaw said.<\/p>\n
The sun had broken in reds just below the tree line. More kids had shown up by now, the music louder\u2014\u201cI\u2019ve Seen All Good People\u201d playing on the boombox\u2014and a few had brought down six packs of good beer, Heineken or Molson, and some bringing suitcases of Bud. \u00a0Someone else had left a big bottle of Southern Comfort near one of the suitcases, and there was a bottle of no name Vodka we started passing both around. The entire field was spinning a little for me, beginning to fade into shadows. In the spring, the little kids, the farm league baseball teams\u2014second and third graders\u2014would be out here through dusk, but now their season was long over.<\/p>\n
I remembered when I was very small, maybe three or four, coming out here on nights like this to play football with the big family of boys who lived across the street. There was a lot of them, going from age twenty-five or twenty-six to the youngest who was only two years older than me. They lived in old farmhouse, a few even sleeping in the barn, and they had a couple ponies, a number of ducks and chickens, two sheep, and a couple of big dogs\u2014mastiffs\u2014that were nearly as big as the ponies. On weekends and on weekdays in the summer, you would see their mother running about the yard, chasing one of them or looking for others, trying to get them to do their chores. And sometimes some of the boys would climb out the window and hide of the roof, happily singing, freedom, after their mother ran back inside. They were a nice family, all great athletes most of whom excelled in school, \u00a0and despite how small I was they would grab me and my older brother Stephen on their way to the field, through our backyard, to play football, one of the older boys carrying me. I didn\u2019t know how to play football back then, but I knew if I got the ball I was supposed to take it and run, and that was fun enough for me. And then sometimes once the dark just about settled, just about like this, their father would drive down the field in his pickup truck and pick us all up and drive us home. Sometimes stopping at EZ Park to get us ice cream or a Slush Puppie, or sometimes a grape soda. It was gray in my memory, but it was still there, and I thought about it now, and how things had changed. I missed those days.<\/p>\n
I looked over at Buck, and he was now lying flat on his back in the middle of the court, presumably out cold. He had sat down for a minute to catch his breath, and then that was it. Goose and Reggie each grabbed an arm and dragged him to the grass, Buck\u2019s head lagging to the right as they did and making him look like a fallen soldier.<\/p>\n
\u201cEasy with him,\u201d Toad said, \u201che\u2019s going to feel rough enough when he wakes up as it is.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDude\u2019s a fuckin loser.\u201d The Outlaw hit another apple with the bat, the pieces splintering in mid-air, and he spit.<\/p>\n
\u201cHe\u2019s probably all hopped up on junk.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDoes anyone know where he lives?\u201d Goose asked.<\/p>\n
\u201cI think he lives up on the Rockland line, maybe just over,\u201d said Toad. \u201cNear Dairy Queen.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cFuckin dirt bag,\u201d Goose said.<\/p>\n
\u201cMy brother Paul knows him,\u201d said Mr. Grimes. \u201cHe used to hang out with him.\u201d Mr. Grimes had just arrived a few minutes before, a twelve pack of Milwaukee\u2019s Best under arm, and his hair looking slick like he had just stepped out of the shower. He was the oldest of all of us, could already buy beer. He wore a T-shirt with Elmer Fudd on the front getting what looked to be a blowjob from a long-haired woman with an hourglass figure who had her back turned so you couldn\u2019t see her face, or just exactly what she was doing. \u00a0Fudd was blushing, though, sleepy eyed, and had a caption saying, “Shhh\u2026.be berry, berry quiet.\u201d<\/p>\n
Mr. Grimes loved that T-shirt and wore it all the time. It was already threadbare and looked as if it hadn\u2019t seen a washing in a few weeks or more. He wore his leather over it, summer or winter, and he had been struggling to grow a mustache since I first met him three or four years before. Mr. Grimes had almost managed to graduate high school a few years before\u2014just nine more credits to go, he was always saying-and was now working full time as a custodian at a metal painting shop over on the Brockton line. \u201cYou gotta start at the bottom, my friend,\u201d he had told me, \u201cand learn the trade and work your way up. Two or three years from now, I figure I\u2019ll have enough socked away to open a shop of my own. And then the big dollars start rolling in. Real estate. Cruises to the Bahamas, drinking cocktails with little umbrellas, all that shit. I already bought half a dozen flowered shirts.\u201d<\/p>\n
Now he cracked a beer. \u201cI think my brother was a year or two ahead of him in school,\u201d he continued about Buck. \u201cThey\u2019re both field alumni. They were punching the clock on weekends down here back when we were still watching Scooby Doo.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI don\u2019t buy that shit,\u201d said Goose. \u201cThe dude\u2019s a fucking loser. Your brother, sure, not this moron.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAll true,\u201d said Mr. Grimes. \u201cThey used to have rumbles with the jocks down here all the time. They didn\u2019t fuck around back then. Chains and bats. Whatever you could get your hands on. Pow! \u00a0Wham!\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMust be why he\u2019s brain dead.\u201d Goose said. He laughed, making the honking noise which had landed him his name. \u201cDude can\u2019t be fucking with our game though.\u201d<\/p>\n
Fat Ed had walked up to EZ Park, and was now coming back carrying a brown bag in his arm.<\/p>\n
Ed pulled some Funyuns and began to nibble at them, looking at Buck. Buck was lying on his back again, his eyes half open, and one leg up. Ed put the bag down beside him and with a cigarette dangling from his lips, pulled out a can of shaving cream. He leaned over and gave Buck a beard. Buck wiped at the beard but only succeeded in covering the rest of his face, the cream now in his eyes. He tried to sit up.<\/p>\n
\u201cWe should coronate him,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n
\u201cCoronate him?\u201d Goose said. \u201cWhat the fuck does that mean?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMake him King of the Field,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n
\u201cAh ha,\u201d said Mr. Grimes. \u201cKing Buck.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHa, fuck that,\u201d Goose said. \u201cKing of the fuckin zeros, you mean.\u201d He lit a cigarette. \u201cThat dude ain\u2019t my king,\u201d but even before he finished the words, Mr. Grimes had his pocketknife out and was at the edge of the swamp sawing away at a thorn bush branch. He began to fold it into a ring, a crown. Pricked himself once, a drop of blood dropping to the lawn.<\/p>\n
\u201cOuch,\u201d he said, sticking his finger in his mouth, and suppressing a smile, he finished the crown. \u201cToo bad it doesn\u2019t have any roses on it; old Buck would be looking like the guy on the Grateful Dead album covers.<\/p>\n
The whiskey bottle sat beside the radio, just a little over an inch left. Mr. Grimes had given me and Dorman a Milwaukee\u2019s Best, and Toad had given us a Molsen. The beer looking that much better in the cold green bottle.<\/p>\n
The game had ended, but Dorman was still taking a shots. I remembered when we were really little he would go up to the school at the top of the hill and shoot for hours at a time. I remembered his jeans being much too big for him, holes in the knees before that was styling, and a faded T-shirt with Dartmouth written across the front. His brother had gone to Dartmouth, full scholarship, and Frankie said he planned on going there, too. So he had to shoot. Had to practice, and then who knew? \u00a0NBA maybe,\u201d he said smiling. \u201cBut I\u2019ll probably be too friggin short.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou have class, Toad,\u201d I said holding up the Molsen. \u201cYou drink the good stuff.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m all about class baby.\u201d Dorman passed Toad the ball, and he shot. Hit. \u201cUpscale!\u201d \u00a0The ball landed between Buck\u2019s splayed legs and bounced away. \u00a0Buck moaned a little, and lifted his head. Reggie passed Frankie a joint, and then he and the Outlaw began arguing with Bunny over who would kick who\u2019s ass in fight—Bruce Lee or Sylvester Stallone.<\/p>\n
\u201cStallone would fucking kill him,\u201d added Bunny. \u201cHe\u2019d go all fuckin Rambo on him.\u201d<\/p>\n
The Outlaw had his arms folded tight across his chest. \u201cNa-ah. No way. Bruce Lee had skill.<\/p>\n
He could do all sorts of shit.<\/p>\n
\u201cBruce Lee was a little Chinese pussy,\u201d said Bunny.<\/p>\n
\u201cNa-ah,\u201d said the Outlaw. \u201cJust because he wasn\u2019t that big, it doesn\u2019t make him a pussy. \u00a0I know plenty of little guys who are tough as fuck.\u201d He spit. \u201cThey\u2019re wiry and mean.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cStallone would still kill him.\u201d Reggie dropped his voice a few notches.<\/p>\n
\u201c\u2019I\u2019m coming to get yoooouuuuu\u2026.\u201d<\/p>\n
The Outlaw shifted his feet back and forth.<\/p>\n
\u201cIf Bruce got his nun chucks out he would fuck him up. I know this shit, I\u2019ve been taking martial arts classes since I was like seven years old. My father wanted me to learn to defend myself against my brother.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSo he bought you nun chucks?\u201d I asked. \u201cSeriously? To hit your brother?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYah. He wanted me to protect myself. He knew I wasn\u2019t going to be wicked tall or any shit like that.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo, way,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n
\u201cYah, he did,\u201d said the Outlaw.<\/p>\n
Pumpkinhead giggled a little, drew on his cigarette. \u201cHe carries them on him.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cGet out of here,\u201d said Dorman.<\/p>\n
Everyone had stopped shooting except for Dorman, who was at the far side of the court, away from Buck, grabbing his own rebounds and going in for lay ups. He had dominated the game, but now kept going.<\/p>\n
The Outlaw smiled again. His canine teeth were long, the right one longer than the one on the left, overlapping his lip when he suppressed a smile. He rolled up the right pant leg of his jeans, and undid a strap around his sock, and then pulled two sticks of wood attached by a small chain in between.<\/p>\n
\u201cOh, wow,\u201d Dorman said, stopping then. \u201cAren\u2019t those illegal in Massachusetts?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOnly if you get caught,\u201d said the Outlaw.<\/p>\n
\u201cHow do you do them?\u201d Dorman asked.<\/p>\n
The Outlaw put down his beer and took a few steps back.<\/p>\n
\u201cI haven\u2019t practiced in a few days, so I\u2019m a little rusty.\u201d He started with one of the sticks in his right hand and began swinging it around, over his shoulder, behind his back, then switching hands with the blink of an eye, all the while bending his knees, and working his feet. He was really pretty quick, agile, and impressed me quite a bit. I would never think that a kid who slowly sauntered around with his head down the way he did could ever move like that.<\/p>\n
The Outlaw stopped his demonstration for a moment, and Reggie began insisting he let him try the weapon. Reggie was like that. Wanted to prove he was better than everybody at everything.<\/p>\n
Over beneath the hoop someone had place an empty beer bottle atop of Buck\u2019s head, in the middle of the crown of thorns. He stirred again, and the bottle fell off, smashing on the pavement beside him.<\/p>\n
It was dusk now, and the mosquitoes were out, most of us slapping at our bare arms, and the sides of our heads when one flew to close to our ears. \u00a0And at the far edge of field, by the woods, and in the swamp, you could see the fire flies flashing in the darkness. My head was starting to feel good with the beer, and I thought of how when I was little my grandmother used to point to them in the woods behind our house at night, and tell us they were fairies. I remember that even back then I wasn\u2019t sure whether to believe her, but I wanted to believe her, and back then the world was still magical, and anything was possible. I wanted that world back.<\/p>\n
The breaking of the bottle had brought Buck around, and he pushed off the tar with both hands, trying to climb to his feet. Fat Ed walked back over with the shaving cream and started covering him again. \u201cDown Fido,\u201d he said. \u00a0Buck collapsed on his ass, and Pumpkin head grabbed some handfuls of cut grass and dropped them on him, sticking to the shaving cream.<\/p>\n
\u201cHe\u2019s tarred and feathered,\u201d said Mr. Grimes. \u201cI\u2019m starting to feel a little sorry for the dude.\u201d<\/p>\n
He finished his beer then and looked at his watch. \u201cWell, Bubs. I need to go. There is a party over on Groveland Street with plenty of ladies anticipating my arrival.\u201d He ran his fingers up through his hair and started across the field, his silhouette soon merging with the gray of the dusk.<\/p>\n
When he was gone, Pumpkinhead picked up some used cigarette butts and stuck them into the shaving cream, too. Then some Funyuns. Buck swiped out his hand trying to grab him, but he jumped back out of reach.<\/p>\n
Reggie had successfully got the nun chucks away from the Outlaw and was trying to swing them about himself albeit it much clumsily.<\/p>\n
\u201cThis isn\u2019t that hard. \u00a0Give me a day and I\u2019d be an expert with these things.\u201d<\/p>\n
Buck went to stand, and Fat Ed leaned over and grabbed him by the boot so he fell flat back on his ass.<\/p>\n
He picked up the shaving cream again. Toad had stopped shooting and stopped dribbling. \u00a0He tossed the ball towards the swamp and grabbed the shaving cream from Fat Ed\u2019s hand.<\/p>\n
\u201cEnough,\u201d he said. \u201cEnough is enough. Leave the poor fucking guy alone. What\u2019s he ever done to you?\u201d \u00a0He tossed the can towards the swamp. \u201cSo, he got a little fucking drunk, so what? \u00a0In an hour, you\u2019ll be drunk, too. You guys are acting like assholes. Let him keep some dignity.\u201d<\/p>\n
Buck went to stand again, now reaching for the basketball post.<\/p>\n
Toad glared at Fat Ed. \u201cNow, clean him up!\u201d<\/p>\n
Fat Ed just lit a cigarette and stared at Toad for a second as if sizing him up. \u201cOk,\u201d he said. \u201cI\u2019ll clean him up.\u201d<\/p>\n
He took a step closer to Buck and undid his fly.<\/p>\n
I heard someone shout out \u201cNo way!\u201d \u00a0and then Ed began to piss on him.<\/p>\n
Buck shook his head a bit, wiped at the urine splattering across his face, his eyes still shut.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat the fuck?\u201d he said, reaching out again to grab at Fat Ed\u2019s leg. Fat Ed shook and finished and pulled up his fly.<\/p>\n
I couldn\u2019t move. Everyone was silent. \u00a0And then somebody laughed.<\/p>\n
Toad just stared at Fat Ed, his mouth hanging open.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m going to take a shit on him later on,\u201d Fat Ed said. Toad motioned as if he were going to say something more, but the challenge that had been his eyes completely drained. \u00a0He went to help Buck to his feet, but the man was too heavy and fell back on his ass.<\/p>\n
\u201cFuck it,\u201d Toad said, and then he marched off towards the ruins of the bubbler and the posts with the wire running between at the entrance to the field, disappearing towards the neon lights of the convenience store on the other side of the trees.<\/p>\n
Buck\u2019s eyes were open now, white in the darkness, and glaring at Ed. \u201cFuck you,\u201d he said.
\nSomebody spit on him, and then a second later Bunny grabbed the nun chucks from Reggie\u2019s hands as he was still spinning them about, let out a yell like he was trying to make a karate sound as did, spun around on one foot and swinging the sticks, brought one down across the side of Buck\u2019s head. Buck cried out, his hands going immediately up to cover his face, and Bunny head hit him again. This time the crack against the bone was louder than the first, the blood beginning to trickle just above Buck\u2019s left eye.<\/p>\n
Bunny stood back watching the blood run\u2014we were all watching it run–catching his breath and looking a little stunned. \u00a0Buck tried to stand again, and this time the Outlaw took the nun chucks back, saying something like \u201cthat\u2019s not how you do it, this is how,\u201d before the sticks were twirling too fast to be seen, and Buck began slumping over, trying to shield his entire head and crying out repeatedly.<\/p>\n
Then Ed, cigarette dangling from his lips, picked up the bat that The Outlaw had been hitting the apples with earlier. \u00a0He stepped closer to Buck, and the little awareness that was left in Buck\u2019s eyes came to life as he did. He tried to stand again, and Ed swung the bat with both hands, cracking him across the head and knocking him flat on his back. Bunny was still getting him with the nunchucks. And Fat Ed handed the bat off to Reggie.<\/p>\n
Reggie hit Buck three or four times, before standing with the bat at his hips, catching his breath, and then he handed it to me. Buck had begun to whimper. I shook my head, and Reggie whispered \u201cpussy,\u201d and then tossed the bat to Dorman. Dorman caught the bat with one hand and glared at Buck. I could see him shifting his legs about, his eyes focused, the way he looked during football just before getting down into a three-point stance. He flicked his cigarette, and then he spit, and then he cracked Buck twice on his right shoulder, and then three times on the head, but Buck wasn\u2019t crying out anymore.<\/p>\n
By the time they had finished, Buck\u2019s head split down the middle and what had been his face now unrecognizable, the moon had risen high above the field. Someone kicked out at him with their boot, and the Outlaw started to cry. Bunny dragged on a joint, his eyes so narrow now that you could barely see the pupils. He held it out to me, his hands shaking a little, but of course there was nothing left to do then but run.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
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