Chapter 1
McDougal had a blood disease or some
pituitary dysfunction bullshit that made him a little sissy runt. He wasn’t the
kind of sissy runt fuck that would cower and not fight when the bigger kids
kicked him around, he just had that pituitary shit that made him little and
weak. One spring day in the 9th grade when I was making my way through the
transition hallway from the old building to the new building of South Park High
School this red-headed moron gorilla 10th grader, Talty McManus kicked McDougal
into me and the little shit got tangled in my legs causing both of us to fall
and my books spilled all over the floor. Now, I didn’t really give a shit about
that little runt fuck McDougal, people could kick him all they wanted as far as
I was concerned, but as I lay there all twisted up with him, like always I got
really mad, especially at the sound of that fucking moron gorilla McManus and
his friends laughing while I was on the hallway floor with McDougal.
Once untangled, I scooped up my heavy
Literature Today book, jumped to my feet and with both hands cracked McManus
right upside his giant red moron head causing him to stumble back into the
hallway wall. His friends grabbed me and locked me up and when McManus regained
his equilibrium, he proceeded to bash the shit out of me until the shop
teacher, Mr. Pierson came and broke it up, Still really mad and not giving a
shit about consequences, the second I was released I threw a punch at McManus,
which just grazed his jaw and eventually landed on the chin of a very angry Mr.
Pierson. What did I care? Five days off... maybe I’d punch ten more of these
fucking morons and slide right into summer vacation.
The four of us, the flame headed gorilla
McManus, his two friends and myself were sent to the detention room. It was
determined that McDougal was the victim in all of this and was sent along to
class. Mr. Franklin the imposing security guard babysat us as we theoretically
waited for our parents to pick us up. Over the next hour or so McManus’ friends
were escorted out leaving just the two of us there separated by Mr. Franklin. I
settled in with a Nick Hornby book I was reading knowing my dad, if they could
even contact him, would tell school officials to fuck off, I was their problem
from 0745-0245.
Sitting there, McManus would occasionally
draw my attention from the Hornby book and mouth the words ‘I’m going to kill
you!’ to which I responded with a sarcastic smirk and then some kisses blown in
his direction from my hand. Constrained by the presence of Mr. Franklin, he was
like a big dumb Irish Setter tied to a parked car and taunting him was almost
better than cracking that stupid fuck upside his moron head. When he was
finally called to leave he shouted, “You’re dead Jackson!”
Yeah, whatever.
I left school later with a sense of
liberation, five days’ worth, and decided to walk home rather than ride the
bus. I almost missed McDougal leaning up against the green street light in
front of Rite-Aid in his little puke green jacket calling out to me in his tiny
voice, “Jackson...Jackson.”
But I just kept walking, fuck that little
asshole. He didn’t get the message though and in a voice that was probably
yelling for him said, “Thanks for helping me today.”
Normally, I would’ve just let this pass,
but there were other kids around who may have heard him and I didn’t want
anybody getting the impression that I was some kind of fucking good Samaritan.
So I turned around, took five steps in the direction of McDougal and said,
“Listen you little fuck, I could give a shit about who kicks you around, just
don’t get kicked into me. Got it?” Then, to make sure he got it, I slapped him
upside the head and the little fuck crumpled to the ground like a toothpick
house folding in on itself.
Wincing in pain he got into a sitting
position and looked up at me with his pathetic, tiny pain filled eyes and
fucking got me, “McDougal, goddammit, get up, stop being such a little shit,”
and I picked his meager little ass from the ground and started to brush him off
and straighten him up.
“Get off of me,” he said trying to push me
away
I stepped back and looked at him and was
filled with...I don’t know what I was filled with, but I wanted to say
something and when nothing came to me, I turned to leave.
I hadn’t taken a two steps when McDougal’s tiny little voice
called out to me, “Hey Jackson, you want go in the Rite Aid and steal some beer
with me?”
Walking, I called back to him, “I just got
a five-day vacation, I’m not about to spend it in fucking juvie.”
When I turned to leave he grabbed my hoodie
sleeve and said, “I know you’re thinking there’s cameras everywhere in there,
but I got a way around that shit, ” and he pulled an iPhone 7 from his jacket
pocket.
Hearing McDougal curse was funny and
funnier still was the difficulty he had holding iPhone 7, his little fingers
straining to grip the device. But with dead seriousness, he said, “I can shut
down the security cameras with this.”
Looking skeptically at him he walked to the
front of the big plate glass windows that were covered with this week’s
specials on foot powder, lawn chairs and feminine hygiene products.
“C’mere,” he said. “Watch this,” and he
punched some shit up on the phone and the lights blinked on and off in the
store.
Impressed, I said, “Holy shit, McDougal,
you’re some little Jimmy Neutron nerd fuck.”
“Jimmy Neutron?... what is this 2003?”
“Yeah, well, I was flipping the channels
the other day… Wait a minute, fuck you McDougal,” I said and slapped him on the
head, but light enough so he didn’t crumple to the ground like before.
He smiled up at me with teeth too big for
his tiny mouth and like Elon Musk or something said, “Let’s do this.”
We stood there for like fifteen minutes
waiting for all the foot traffic from school to pass and to make sure there
were no customers in the store. During that time we also mapped out a plan:
McDougal would go in first, draw the cashier to the back of the store where the
pharmacy was located to look for some special kind non-existent vitamins and
when they couldn’t find them he would suggest they enlist the the manager’s
help. Once the manager was engaged he would jam the security cameras and then
signal me by blinking the lights on and off. I would come in and lift the beer
from the coolers on the side wall at the front of the store.
It was all set, but as he was about to go
through the front doors I became anxious and unlike at school, thought about
the consequences, “McDougal, you sure you can do all that?”
Looking straight at me he twitched his
fingers on the screen of the phone and the overheads fluttered for a few
seconds like a strobe light. Impressive as that was I still wasn’t completely
sold and asked, “What if they won’t go to the back of the store with you?”
McDougal gave me a big eye roll and then
walked over to me, got up on his toes and slapped me upside my head and with a
big smile said, “Normal people feel sorry for me and want to help me. They’ll
do whatever I ask, trust me.” Walking away he said, “Make sure you get tall
boys.”
And, you know what, that little hobbit
motherfucker was right, it worked like a charm. The lights flicked, I went in
and could see the back of cashier head and the manager moving to the rear of
the store where the closed off and busy pharmacists were engaged in their work,
leaving the front of the store wide open. It was almost too easy. Besides a six
of Rolling Rock tall boys, I grabbed some Fritos, Tortilla chips and a tin of
Altoids. Out on the street cars whizzed by, but luckily there was no foot
traffic and with a cool urgency made my way to the side of the building,
On the side of the building I dispatched
the Rolling Rocks from their plastic rings and barely was able to jam them in
my backpack and waited on McDougal. I had a momentary thought of ditching him,
but I don’t know, the little fuck had gotten to me or something. Instead, I got
my flip phone out and sent a text to Lexi, that said, ‘Meeet mee.’ The extra
e’s were code for her to meet me behind the closed down Fiberglass Plant that
was next to Okell Field.
Okell Field butted up against the back of
Rite-Aid and South Park on one side and the closed down plant on the other
side. Playing softball during gym class one day while looking for a foul ball
in the shrub that grew along the six-foot-tall fence separating the field from
the plant, I noticed an opening in the fencing. This led to a small space
between the back of the Fiberglass Plant and a stockade fence that ran along
the perimeter of the property and out beyond the weedy uninhabited parking lot.
There were houses on the other side of the stockade fence, but they were far
enough away that as long as you weren’t crazy or there wasn’t a softball game
going you could hang there in relative peace and fucking tranquility. You could
even enjoy a fire in the steel drum that was there while relaxing on some
plastic milk crates I nipped from the 7-Eleven. I called it The Spot and
sometimes I went back there with a few X-games biking dudes, but mostly I
brought girls to neck with back there. Lately, it had been Lexi.
I was growing anxious waiting on McDougal,
but eventually he showed with a big grin on his face asking, “Did you get the
tall boys?”
“Hell yes, and these too,” I said and
holding up the chips,
I turned and at a moderate pace walked
along the side of the Rite-Aid and headed to The Spot. McDougal quickly fell
behind and my appeals for the little fuck to hurry up were useless. Even at a
moderate pace the kid couldn’t keep up. Why, we needed to move fast, I didn’t
know. Adrenalin, I guess. But we fell into a pace that was good for McDougal,
talking with great excitement at how easy the whole thing had been.
Going against a stiff April breeze with
angry dark clouds looming down on us we crossed the field, which was spongy in
spots from the spring rains, negotiated the fence and sat down on the milk
crates. Facing each other. I set my backpack between us, unzipped it and pulled
out two tall boys. Handing one to McDougal, which he had trouble gripping I
asked,, “Why tallboys?”
“I don’t know, they look cool.”
With the beers in our hands we both
hesitated till McDougal asked, “You ever drink before?”
“Sips… you?”
“Yeah...sips.”
“Let’s go,” I said and we lightly tapped
cans. We both took a slug and I could see McDougal’s face and feel my face
wince in pain at the taste of the beer.
After talking about my suspension and how I
was going to try to keep it from my old man we both took another cautious
drink. The bitterness of a the beer lessened a bit and would continue do so
with each new sip.
“I know your old man,” McDougal said out of
the blue.
“Poor fucking you, how?”
“Black Dogs. Talty’s. Sometimes when I
spend the weekends with my Dad he drags me to all those joints up and down the
Avenue.”
“They don’t give him shit bringing you
around?” I asked
“Nah, but I don’t go so much anymore, not
since the accident.” he said casually.
“What accident?”
“Not really an accident, I was driving my
dad home from the bar and cut the wheel too hard and scraped the back end of a
Chevy Cruze on my dad’s street,” he said.
“You cut the wheel too hard?... McDougal,
you’re eleven years old and three fucking feet tall, you can’t drive.”
“Hey, I’m fourteen and 4’ 8,” and I can
drive,” he protested
“Jesus Christ, three hits on that beer and
out comes the bullshit. You should put it down right now, this drinking thing
is not going to work out for you,” I said laughing.
“No, really,” he said still protesting. “My
dad is kind of a drunk and a goof and after he got a DWI he taught me to drive
so he wouldn’t get another one.”
“Yeah, well my dad is a drunk too and all
he taught me was how to shut the fuck up and block punches. So, just quit it,
McDougal.”
“Seriously, we would pull the seat way up
and I would sit on some old phone books so I could see over the dashboard and
we tied a coffee can to my foot so I could reach the pedals and then we
practiced in the mall parking lot. I was pretty good. I probably got him home
twenty times before I sideswiped that Cruze.”
While I’m not all that smart in a school
way, I am pretty smart in the street way and as that little puke sat there with
his dumb fucking Harry Potter haircut and his tiny eyes fat with excitement I
believed the little fucker. The only thing I thought to ask was, “What’s a
phone book?”
As he explained that a phone book was a big
thick directory of phone numbers that came out every year before the internet
was invented, pretty Lexi made her way through the fence opening and sat down
next to me, nodded at McDougal and said, “Where’d you get the beer?”
“Rite Aid,” I said. “It was a big heist,”
then I pulled the tab on a beer for her and explained the day’s events.
When I was done she looked at McDougal and
said, “I know you, Mr. Fundalinski’s art class. He lets you use the Bluetooth,
right?”
“Yeah,” McDougal said, “I have sensitive
ears and he lets me listen through this.” and he pulled a mini Bose Bluetooth
speaker from his backpack.
Looking at me she said, “You should hear
the crazy shit he listens to.”
Lexi had the prettiest blue eyes and the
softest lips that were eternally glistening with strawberry supreme lip gloss.
I had necked with a bunch of girls and even felt up a few and none of them had
the technique down like Lexi. Those other girls would slobber all over your
face, but Lexi kept it nice and tight and clean. Like me, she was a little
messed up and didn’t do so well in school but she could kiss and she liked good
music. None of that Twenty-One Pilots ot Imagine Dragons bullshit, she liked
good stuff—Silversun Pickups and Modest Mouse.
Taking her first wincing sip she pulled a
pack of menthol Seneca Joe’s from her jean jacket and said, “You got beer, I
got these.”
Surprised, I said, “I didn’t know you
smoked,”
“I don’t, but my mom was being a total
asshole this morning so I stole them. It was her last pack. Now she’s going to
have to drop a ten on Newport’s at 7-Eleven to tide her over till she can get
to the reservation. Got a light?”
None of us had a light but we all took one
and pretended to smoke. As the beer started to kick in McDougal punched up some
shit through Google Play on his phone called Foxygen and then some Bon Iver.
After that he went old school with the Boy With The Arab Strap by Belle and
Sebastian. Lexi loved that song and got up and started to dance with McDougal.
I guess these tunes were okay in a genderless college radio type of way and at
first it was funny watching McDougal dance with Lexi. After a little
awkwardness McDougal found some semblance of rhythm and I could see the way he was
smiling at Lexi, he was falling for her and it made me mad. I kind of knew it
was stupid to be mad and was going get up and butt in, but instead, I took his
phone and dialed up some Slack Motherfucker by Superchunk. They continued to
dance but the Superchunk tune was a really up, fist waving high energy song
that made you want to bounce around on your toes. Finishing my first beer and
feeling a little drunk I even got up and bounced around. I followed that with
some motherfucking Black Rebel Motorcycle Club, Spread Your Love and McDougal
hearing the first heavy notes was like, “Oh yeah, I like this.”
Standing there, he fixed the unlit
cigarette to his lips and started to play air guitar. Lexi took out her
aviators and wrapped them over his ears. They were too big for his tiny head
and he looked like a bug, a bug with a menthol hanging from his mouth playing
air guitar. Lexi sat down next to me, took my hand and put her head on my
shoulder. I felt stupid for getting mad while she danced with McDougal and was
about to descend into the pit of self-recrimination, but it was so funny
watching that little runt fuck McDougal sway and bend and do leg kicks like
some badass rock star I thankfully didn’t go there.
When he was done he sat down to our
applause as we chanted “McDougal, McDougal, McDougal.” We opened the Fritos as
he asked questions and searched Google Play for more BRMC.
“I found them on Pandora like last year.
Their sound isn’t as heavy these days, but they’re still really good,” I said.
We listened to some more BMRC, while we ate
the chips and talked about music. McDougal slurring a little said he heard a
lot of new music on the satellite radio station XMU and with a bit of cockiness
added, “I knew about Lana Del Rey when I was seven-years old.”
“I love Lana Del Rey. She’s like a rainy
afternoon,” Lexi said.
“Eh,” I chimed in, “she’s okay. I mean,
she’s pretty funny when she talks about fucking her way to the top, but all her
songs go at the same pace, never up or down. They just drone.”
Then in a moment of panic McDougal said, “I
forgot to text my mom,” and stopped the music and started to tap furiously at
his phone with his thumbs.
I took this opportunity to lean in and kiss
Lexi. Even with the beer and Fritos she was a delicious freak of nature with
her shiny strawberry lips.
Still kissing Lexi a minute later McDougal
said, “Yeah, don’t worry about me, just kiss away there while my mom has every
cop in South Buffalo out looking for me.”
“School’s only been out for an hour.”
“Yeah, but she’s scared of stuff and I have
all these medications. She worries,”
“What’d you tell her,” Lexi asked.
“Knight’s Blade Gaming,” he said while he
looked up something on his phone.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“It’s miniature tabletop gaming. Forget
that, check this out,” he said finding what he was looking for on his phone.
“This is Mitski, she’s my favorite.”
And from the mini Bose poured a voice with
that rainy afternoon vibe similar to Lana Del Rey’s, backed though by a broader
range of instrumentation that included some ass kicking guitar. The
arrangements and Mitski’s voice also had more range, ticking methodically
upward from despondency to resourcefulness to onslaught. It was really good
shit and you could see McDougal totally
lose himself in it. We all had stuff we got lost in, but there against the
gloom of the closed down plant, under a lousy grey sky, McDougal brought it to
another level when Your Best American Girl started to play. Sitting there, he
began to sway to her moody voice over a slowly picked acoustic guitar and then
as the song gained momentum with the addition of bass, drums and a bed of
buzzing atmospherics the swaying turned to gentle rocking and you could see in
his methodic movements how the music permeated every molecule of his being.
Then, as the momentum of the song reached its breaking point, there was an
explosion of electric guitars and Mitski’s voice went from moody and vulnerable
to a towering sort of muscular righteous. Jumping to his feet with a sudden
burst of energy, McDougal threw open his arms like some sort of miniature Jesus
on the cross and with his head bent upward to the sky and closed eyes he
radiated on the spot. And, with each change in the music his little body
convulsed and contorted while violently opening and closing his arms. It was
fascinating to watch him become more than lost in the music, the music was of
him and he was of it, and it transported him to some higher dimension where he
looked like a motherfucking true believer willing himself to God. It was
spectacular and when the song ended like a fading electrical storm, I turned
to Lexi and her blown away face was all
the confirmation needed as to what we just witnessed.
McDougal, slowly lowered himself back into
sitting position on the crate and said, “Wow, I’m really drunk.”
But he wasn’t drunk, at least not from the
tall boy. Neither were Lexi or I as we finished our beers. We decided to call
it a day and after stashing the remaining two tall boys deep in the shrub along
the fence and loading up on Altoids we walked home in relative silence.
McDougal turned off at West Woodside and I walked Lexi to her house on Tift St.
As I made my way back to Lockwood, where I lived, it started to rain a bit and
even though I had to come up with a way to keep my five-days off from my dad, I
couldn’t get little fucking McDougal and all that had happened today off my
mind. I mean, what the fuck was that?
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