remembers
plenty of storms exactly like this one when they were growing up. His mom used
to make them stand outside and yell at the lightning. Four little boys, out in
the pouring rain, screaming at the sky. It was empowering. She prepared them so
well for life. He is so grateful to have been home-schooled, and not
contaminated, or brainwashed, by the fairy tales they stuff down the throats of
little kids. Mother taught them the truth: beyond each other, there is no one
and no thing of value. “Civilization is a pretty dress on a snake,” Mom used to
say. “There’s no right or wrong, just winners and losers, and the winners get
to write the books to make ‘emselves look good, but the bare-assed truth is any
human starving in a snow bank will eat his neighbor. They don’t tell you that
in school.” Ben thinks fondly back on his mom. She would say, “There are groups
a folks with different ideas ‘bout what is good, and what is evil, and if
that’s not proof enough that it’s all a crock of bullshit I don’t know what
is.” She was so practical and real. “Worry only about each other, take whatever
you can, and don’t be a fool.”
The only interference the Burne boys had growing up was when
the school would send a spy to check on them. Ben grins recalling how they
would laugh after each visit. The spy, invariably a woman social worker, would
stop by and say, “You know, Mrs. Burne, those boys need to play with other
kids, be socialized, learn camaraderie and compromise.” Ben remembers how Mom
would listen with that I’m-so-interested-in-what-you’re-saying expression on
her face, like she was getting superior advice, and after a thoughtful pause,
she would talk about music lessons they never really took, and athletic teams
they didn’t actually join. And then she’d drop the big bomb; it was religion
after all that didn’t allow public schooling. She would invoke Jesus Christ and
the social worker would shift her little ass around in the seat and look like
someone shoved a gag in her mouth, which of course, was exactly it. Mom had
raised all four of them to be God loving. She followed the Bible, as she used
to say, religiously. She taught them that they were made in God’s image and so
were meant to be all-powerful. She explained how Jesus would forgive them
anything as long as they said sorry after because this was what he said over
and over in the Bible - the forgiveness thing is your free ride. She did prefer
the Old Testament’s clarity, although Revelations was awesome with all those
infants damned (because really how could one enjoy heaven with a bunch of
screaming babies) and that everlasting torture stuff, now, that was a good
read. How could you not respect a God who came up with ever…lasting…torture?
Still, she did explain to them the Jesus forgiving element was goddamn useful.
She showed them in the actual Bible verses for the justification for
everything: rape, infanticide, slavery. “Just learn your Act of Contrition,”
she would say. And they would recite it every night. Kent is the most religious
of the brothers because he always liked the idea of saints and spirits, ghosts
and witches.
Mother Burne kept her four boys close so she could teach
them what they really needed to know. With her gone now, Ben knows that his
brothers are truly his wards. Theo is easy. He’s always been more of a pet.
When Ben was nine years old and he wanted a dog, his mom gave him Theo. It was
a perfect compromise. No one really knows how much is going on inside Theo’s
head, but to Ben he really is better than a dog because he’s like a dog with
hands. There are times when he does think Theo’s his favorite. Kent is okay,
although he’s not too smart, and Gravel has a lot of issues, but the best head
of hair. They are brothers. They are blood.
A sputter. A cough from the boat’s engine. Ben looks down at
it. “Shit.” He looks out to assess the shoreline and possible landing spots.
Inside the
plenty of storms exactly like this one when they were growing up. His mom used
to make them stand outside and yell at the lightning. Four little boys, out in
the pouring rain, screaming at the sky. It was empowering. She prepared them so
well for life. He is so grateful to have been home-schooled, and not
contaminated, or brainwashed, by the fairy tales they stuff down the throats of
little kids. Mother taught them the truth: beyond each other, there is no one
and no thing of value. “Civilization is a pretty dress on a snake,” Mom used to
say. “There’s no right or wrong, just winners and losers, and the winners get
to write the books to make ‘emselves look good, but the bare-assed truth is any
human starving in a snow bank will eat his neighbor. They don’t tell you that
in school.” Ben thinks fondly back on his mom. She would say, “There are groups
a folks with different ideas ‘bout what is good, and what is evil, and if
that’s not proof enough that it’s all a crock of bullshit I don’t know what
is.” She was so practical and real. “Worry only about each other, take whatever
you can, and don’t be a fool.”
The only interference the Burne boys had growing up was when
the school would send a spy to check on them. Ben grins recalling how they
would laugh after each visit. The spy, invariably a woman social worker, would
stop by and say, “You know, Mrs. Burne, those boys need to play with other
kids, be socialized, learn camaraderie and compromise.” Ben remembers how Mom
would listen with that I’m-so-interested-in-what-you’re-saying expression on
her face, like she was getting superior advice, and after a thoughtful pause,
she would talk about music lessons they never really took, and athletic teams
they didn’t actually join. And then she’d drop the big bomb; it was religion
after all that didn’t allow public schooling. She would invoke Jesus Christ and
the social worker would shift her little ass around in the seat and look like
someone shoved a gag in her mouth, which of course, was exactly it. Mom had
raised all four of them to be God loving. She followed the Bible, as she used
to say, religiously. She taught them that they were made in God’s image and so
were meant to be all-powerful. She explained how Jesus would forgive them
anything as long as they said sorry after because this was what he said over
and over in the Bible - the forgiveness thing is your free ride. She did prefer
the Old Testament’s clarity, although Revelations was awesome with all those
infants damned (because really how could one enjoy heaven with a bunch of
screaming babies) and that everlasting torture stuff, now, that was a good
read. How could you not respect a God who came up with ever…lasting…torture?
Still, she did explain to them the Jesus forgiving element was goddamn useful.
She showed them in the actual Bible verses for the justification for
everything: rape, infanticide, slavery. “Just learn your Act of Contrition,”
she would say. And they would recite it every night. Kent is the most religious
of the brothers because he always liked the idea of saints and spirits, ghosts
and witches.
Mother Burne kept her four boys close so she could teach
them what they really needed to know. With her gone now, Ben knows that his
brothers are truly his wards. Theo is easy. He’s always been more of a pet.
When Ben was nine years old and he wanted a dog, his mom gave him Theo. It was
a perfect compromise. No one really knows how much is going on inside Theo’s
head, but to Ben he really is better than a dog because he’s like a dog with
hands. There are times when he does think Theo’s his favorite. Kent is okay,
although he’s not too smart, and Gravel has a lot of issues, but the best head
of hair. They are brothers. They are blood.
A sputter. A cough from the boat’s engine. Ben looks down at
it. “Shit.” He looks out to assess the shoreline and possible landing spots.
Inside the
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