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They walked right up to the out-of-bounds line and stood there, checking out the crowd, ignoring the game completely. Then one of them took out a pack of cigarettes and lit up. He threw the match on the floor. Vince walked up and told him there was no smoking in the gym. Bobby Hanley didn't even look his way. Instead, he took a long, slow drag and said, "Blow it out your ass, Pop."
I couldn't believe it! The even more astonishing thing was, Vince mumbled something, but walked back to the door.
A few of Hanley's crew snickered, but none of them had the nerve to light up too. Standing next to me, Vince cursed and kept moving his hands around on the top of the broom. I didn't know what to do. How could this kid get away with that? What kind of crazy power did he have?
The quarter ended as Bobby smoked his cigarette down to the brown filter. When he was done he dropped it on the hardwood floor and ground it out with his boot heel. I watched his foot move back and forth. Much too loudly I said, "What a big jerk."
"Hey, Bobby, numb-nuts over there called you a jerk."
I froze.
"Who did?"
"The little fuck over there by the door. The orange sweater."
"A jerk, huh?"
I wouldn't look up. I wanted to close my eyes, but I didn't. I saw the lower half of Hanley push through his entourage and walk toward me. He grabbed my ear and pulled it up next to his mouth.
"You called me a jerk?"
"Leave the kid alone, Hanley."
Still holding me tight, Bobby told the janitor to fuck off.
"I asked you a question, scumbag. I'm a jerk?"
"You're not supposed to smoke in the gym. Ow!"
"Says who, scumbag? Who's going to stop me?"
Silence. People moved around us. I was so scared and ashamed. I had no guts. Everyone in the world was looking at me. No one knew who I was, but that made no difference. Whoever I was, I was a chickenshit. Hanley was slowly tearing my ear off. I was sure I could hear little things coming apart in there: muscles from bone, soft little membranes and hairs like the thi
"Listen to me, scumbag." He stepped forward and planted his heel on top of my sneaker. He shoved down on it; I yelped as the pain soared up through my body. I started to cry. "Scumbag's crying now. Why're you crying?"
Where was Vince? Where was my father? My brother? My brother – ha! Even then, in the midst of that scene, I knew if Ross had been around he would've laughed himself sick.
"Hey, Bobby, Madeleine's waiting for you."
I looked directly at him for the first time. He was much shorter than I'd thought. Who was Madeleine? Was he going to go away now?
"Look, scummy, don't you ever let me see you around here again, understand? 'Cause if I do, I'm going to cut your fuckin' eyes out with this." He pulled a beer opener out of his pocket and pressed it hard against my nose. I remember how warm it was. I nodded as best I could, and he shoved me away. I cracked my head on a bleacher and went down like a stone in water. When I looked up again the whole gang of them was gone.
For months afterward I skulked around school like a haunted shadow. When I crept into the building in the morning, I checked every corridor, every classroom, every bathroom before I went in or out, just in case he was there. I knew the chances of his ever being in the elementary school were remote, but I wasn't about to tempt fate.
I told no one about it, especially not Ross. At night I sometimes dreamed I was ru
Nothing ever happened, so by the time Ross and Bobby teamed up a year later, I felt only a sharp cut of fear when I saw them together for the first time.
The final indignity was that when Bobby came over to our house for the first time he didn't even recognize me. When Ross said by way of introduction, "That's my shitty little brother," Bobby only smiled and said, "How're you doin', man?"
How was I doing? I wanted to tell him . . . No, I wanted to demand that he recognize me. Me, scumbag, the one he'd scared so badly for huge months of my life.
But I didn't. Later I got up the guts to remind him of that first meeting. He snapped his fingers as if he'd forgotten to buy shoelaces. "Yeah, sure, I thought I knew your face." And that was all.
Naturally the longer he hung around with Ross, the more I liked him. He was very fu
Just before my thirteenth birthday the three of us were in a stationery store and I wistfully mentioned how much I wanted a certain model of the aircraft carrier Forrestal they had on the shelves. When my big day arrived, Bobby came over to the house and handed me the model, gift-wrapped. "Shit, man, did you ever try to steal something that big? It's fucking hard!" I made the model more carefully than any other. I showed it to him only after I'd spent hours painting and sanding it to perfection. He nodded appreciatively and told Ross I knew what I was doing. That year Ross's present to me was a small rubber doll of a woman in a bathing suit whose breasts popped out from behind the suit whenever you squeezed her stomach.
I think Hanley originally liked my brother because Ross was very smart. School was easy for him, and he often ended up doing Bobby's homework for him, although the latter was a grade ahead.
However, I'm not trying to say that was the only reason for their friendship. When he felt like it, my brother not only could charm the birds out of the trees but could make anyone in the world laugh. He wasn't a clown, but among his many gifts was an acute sensitivity to your likes and dislikes, as well as the ability to send you howling. Since Hanley was the undisputed king of the high school, Ross cased the scene before making his move. He decided to become the older boy's court jester. He wasn't tough like the others in the gang, but he was damned shrewd! After only a short time there were a million punks in town who wanted to beat Ross to smithereens, but they left him alone because they all knew he was safely under Bobby's dangerous wing.
In a different environment who knows what might have happened to the two of them. Both Bobby and Ross had an йlan, the magician's touch; that special rare ability to turn cruelty into pink handkerchiefs and kindness into thin air.
The two of them palled around more and more, but my parents didn't mind because Bobby was quiet and courteous when he came over for di
The night before Ross died, Bobby slept over at our house. Ross was very excited because he had been given a twelve-gauge shotgun for his birthday a few days before. My father loved to shoot trap and skeet and had promised to teach us the sport when we reached sixteen.
Bobby had guns of his own, but this one was a beauty he could appreciate. They allowed me to stay in the room with them that evening, even when Ross pulled out the new dirty magazines he'd stolen from the candy store. They smoked almost a full pack of cigarettes and spent the hours talking about the girls at school, different kinds of cars, what Bobby would do when he graduated.
I slept on a hassock that opened out into a bed. Ross let me do that, too. Hours later, I jerked awake when I felt something thick and warm and gooey on my face. Both of them were standing by my bed, and in the dim light I saw Ross tipping a bottle of something over me. I opened my mouth to protest and tasted the heavy sweetness of maple syrup. By that time it was all over me. There was nothing I could do but get up and bump my way out of the room, followed by their pleased laughter. I washed out my pajama top in the sink as best I could, so that my mother would never know about it. Then I took a long shower in the dark.