I had some suggestions that I kept to myself. Mom got out scrub brushes and the StainZaway, handed them over, and went off to hide in the kitchen. Stoner stood over me while I scrubbed at the stains with the Clorox rags and sprayed them with the carpet cleaner and by the way was getting krunked as a kite. Maggot and I had tried out StainZaway for this exact purpose one time, and got educated. There are better and worse things to huff, and StainZaway is a fast train to pukeville. Especially if there’s bleach in the mix.
So now all I can think of is puking, and Stoner making me clean up puke, then the stains of that, and I’m going to be on my knees here huffing StainZaway till somebody kills somebody. It shouldn’t take long. I’ve got snot pouring out of my nose and this insane ringing in my ears, the theme of the X-Men show in my head. That one tune over and over, soundtrack to me scrubbing fury holes in the goddamn carpet: Da-na-na-na NA na na! Da-na-na-na NA na na!! It’s so loud in my head, I honestly can’t tell if it’s coming out of my mouth or not, but it must be because Stoner starts yelling at me to shut the hell up. And I’m screaming back at him Da-na-na-na NA na na! because by this point I’ve pretty thoroughly lost my mind.
All I remember after that is me throwing shit around and him grabbing both arms behind me in a hammerlock. His hand covering my mouth so I can’t breathe. With nothing else to fight with, I bite down on his hand. Sweet Jesus how that feels to sink my teeth in the meat of his hand and taste blood. Like I’m Satan, and all of life has trained me to this achievement.
I wound up in my room nursing a busted lip and hopefully nothing busted inside, though it felt possible. I sat on my bed listening to all this clanking and thumping which was Stoner shoving a thousand pounds of his stupid free weights against the outside of my bedroom door so there would be no escaping from Alcatraz. I tasted blood in my mouth, mine and his. It crossed my mind to hope I wouldn’t get hep C or some such shit, but Mom always swore Stoner was clean and didn’t do any drugs. Just a lot of beer, in his line of duty. After he got me penned in, I heard yelling, mostly him, a little her, more him, then quiet. Maybe they went out. Maybe they sat down and had a bite to eat before Home Improvement came on. It was nothing the hell to me.
I curled up on the bed and cried, which I hated myself doing, and then got up and puked. In my trash can, since I wasn’t getting out to the bathroom. Upchucked the Snickers and all the french fries I’d scored off the sweet Weight Watcher girls at school, which was a shame since prospects for dinner looked dim.
I thought of running away. Getting out the window would be no small trick, since it only opened a few inches. It could break, though. It was quite a drop from there, our trailer being set on the hillside, but I could do that, with probably a minimum of broken bones. After that I was at a loss. The only place I could see going was next door, obviously not far enough. Where else was there? I thought of Aunt June. The woman was known to take in strays. I was sorry I’d never called Emmy, but Mom wouldn’t pay for long distance. Emmy probably had moved on by now. I thought of her anyway, stuck in her doom castle, and felt even sorrier now in my situation of lockdown. Hitchhiking as far as Knoxville without getting picked up by cops was a stretch, and once I got there, I didn’t know any address. Doom castle, second floor. What a useless dickhead. Knowing basically from birth that my mom was not to be counted on. And still no plan B.
I didn’t get let out for school the next day, even though I heard Mom telling him they had attendance officers that would be calling if I stayed out of circulation too long. He said if she knew so much about raising kids, how’d she wind up with a rabid biting dog for a son. Before she went to work, she tried to explain I would need bathroom visits and some kind of food. Then left Stoner to rule over me. Never did any two guys have less to say to each other.
Eventually I was allowed back to school, but on lockdown the rest of the time. A freakish existence. I told Maggot I was thinking of running away, which he advised against. He said I had nerves of steel and Stoner would be crushed in the end. I don’t remember how many days this went on, three or four, plus a heinously boring weekend. It all ran together. In the evenings I was hearing shit being said between Stoner and Mom that I didn’t like the sounds of. At all. The Peggots also were probably not liking the sounds of it, with windows being open at that time of year. I tried to blot them out by drawing in my notebook, inventing various genius ways to crush the Stone Villain. Eyeballs and gauges flying out of him with action lines and little cloud bubbles—Pop! Pop! Or I would bang on the wall with my baseball bat for hours at a stretch: thud, thud. To shut the two of them up, or drive them crazy if that was still an option.
Then one evening late, the door flies open and there stands Stoner. Surprising me in my T-shirt and underpants eating a bag of Cheetos in bed because why the hell not, if that’s all there is. Reading an Avengers that I’d read, oh, nine thousand times already.
“Your mom wants to see you,” he said.
Interesting, I thought, what’s the catch. I had no intention of getting out of bed, but there he stood. I’d not realized he was home. Stoner had been going out in the evenings a lot, working some weird-shit hours or more likely carousing, because who needs their beer delivered that close to closing time? He must have come back to the house without my hearing his truck or his bike. Obviously. I asked him what Mom wanted, and he said she was wanting to show how much she loved me. A weird enough statement to make me nervous. I yelled for her. No answer.
“Mom!” I said louder, bolting out to the living room. Nobody, nothing. “MOM!” And now I’m thinking, Goddammit, she’s moved out. She marries the bastard, and I get stuck with him. In the kitchen there’s crap everywhere, dishes in the sink. A gin bottle on the table, oh shit. Oh hell. Empty. Not a new sight to my eyes. Stoner has this look on his face I could kill him for.
She’s in the bedroom. Lying there in her clothes, shoes and all, passed out. Faceup, not dead because that’s the first thing I checked. Breathing, so she didn’t drown herself yet. There’s pill bottles on the thing by the bed, closed, so I screw open the childproof caps one at a time, three bottles. I don’t know what they are, Xanax and shit she should definitely not have around, but the bottles aren’t empty, thank God. She didn’t down the whole batch, so she’s just going for a Cadillac high, not the total checkout. But God knows she could get there anyway. Mom being not the most careful driver.
“Call nine-one-one,” I tell Stoner, and the damned fool asks why.
“Call nine-one-one!” I scream at him. “Christ, you ignorant asshole! She might have OD’d.”
At this point I’m not even thinking what “ignorant asshole” will get me in the Stoner rewards program. I already know. Life as we’ve lived it is over.
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