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Authors: Chris Bohjalian
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Alfred's request to see the gun seriously. Led him outside into the backyard, where he unsnapped his holster, pulled the magazine from the weapon, and worked the slide--locking it open and ejecting the chambered round into his hand.
This is not a toy, he had said, his voice even. It's a tool. About the most dangerous tool you'll ever see. Do you understand? He then handed him the unloaded gun.
Laura had been watching from the back door, and she got so upset that Alfred feared she might have a stroke right there in the kitchen. She couldn't believe what her husband had done--and neither could Alfred. Not then, and not now.
He wasn't sure what had surprised him more: the idea that Terry had let him touch his sidearm, or how much that sidearm had weighed. He hadn't realized a real pistol would be so heavy.
He thought some more about what sorts of things he really wanted, and decided that one of those pocket-size computer games would be nice. And, perhaps, a pair of in-line skates--though he wasn't going to ask for a pair of those. There was no place to use them out here. Same with a skateboard.
He'd had a chance to steal a skateboard that spring when he was living with the Patterson family in Burlington. He and Tien, both. They'd wandered into the shop on Cherry Street around ten-thirty in the morning, and the place was empty because every other kid in the city was in school--or supposed to be, anyway. They could hear the young guy with the tattoos and the tongue stud in the bathroom peeing, and he and Tien had the same thought at the same time. Grab boards and run. The guy would never know they'd been in the store. It might be days before he or the owner even realized two boards were gone.
But they hadn't taken anything. It was only when they were both back on Church Street with the cigarettes they'd bummed off the salesperson after he emerged from the bathroom that they even shared the fact with each other that they'd both considered swiping a skateboard.
A few times Alfred had taken packs of cigarettes and candy bars from stores, and the studs he'd worn in his ears were stolen--but it was that kid named Maurice who'd actually ripped them off the black canvas display rack when no one was looking, before deciding he didn't really like them. Once he and Digger had lifted a couple of videos from a shop in the mall, but he'd done that more to impress the older boy than because he wanted the movies. And for a while--three or four weeks, maybe--he'd taken dog food from the Hannaford's supermarket for that pathetic animal the Fletchers kept tied to a clothesline yet hardly ever bothered to feed.
He wasn't proud of the list, but he told himself it really wasn't all that long and he'd never been caught.
The truth was he'd never owned very much, or cared a whole lot for whatever he had. His CD player, maybe, and some of his CDs. But there was no future in things, because things didn't go with you.
Most things, anyway. You took what you could in a couple of plastic garbage bags and a suitcase--unlike a lot of kids, he actually had one--and that was pretty much the rule. He'd been with the Sheldons since Labor Day Weekend, and he didn't think he'd collected more than two or three things he'd take with him when he left. He'd take some of the new clothes, of course, but he'd leave behind the shirts and the pants he was getting too big for. He'd take his buffalo soldier cap, that was cool. And he'd take the football.
Was there anything else? Some food, maybe. Laura hadn't noticed, but in the back of his closet he'd been building up his small store of provisions. That was one of the first things you learned: Always have rations handy in case they move you out fast, because there's no telling what kind of food will be waiting for you at the next stop. So far he'd amassed Twinkies, canned peaches (along with one of the two can openers Laura had in a drawer that was positively overflowing with kitchen utensils), and four of those
This is not a toy, he had said, his voice even. It's a tool. About the most dangerous tool you'll ever see. Do you understand? He then handed him the unloaded gun.
Laura had been watching from the back door, and she got so upset that Alfred feared she might have a stroke right there in the kitchen. She couldn't believe what her husband had done--and neither could Alfred. Not then, and not now.
He wasn't sure what had surprised him more: the idea that Terry had let him touch his sidearm, or how much that sidearm had weighed. He hadn't realized a real pistol would be so heavy.
He thought some more about what sorts of things he really wanted, and decided that one of those pocket-size computer games would be nice. And, perhaps, a pair of in-line skates--though he wasn't going to ask for a pair of those. There was no place to use them out here. Same with a skateboard.
He'd had a chance to steal a skateboard that spring when he was living with the Patterson family in Burlington. He and Tien, both. They'd wandered into the shop on Cherry Street around ten-thirty in the morning, and the place was empty because every other kid in the city was in school--or supposed to be, anyway. They could hear the young guy with the tattoos and the tongue stud in the bathroom peeing, and he and Tien had the same thought at the same time. Grab boards and run. The guy would never know they'd been in the store. It might be days before he or the owner even realized two boards were gone.
But they hadn't taken anything. It was only when they were both back on Church Street with the cigarettes they'd bummed off the salesperson after he emerged from the bathroom that they even shared the fact with each other that they'd both considered swiping a skateboard.
A few times Alfred had taken packs of cigarettes and candy bars from stores, and the studs he'd worn in his ears were stolen--but it was that kid named Maurice who'd actually ripped them off the black canvas display rack when no one was looking, before deciding he didn't really like them. Once he and Digger had lifted a couple of videos from a shop in the mall, but he'd done that more to impress the older boy than because he wanted the movies. And for a while--three or four weeks, maybe--he'd taken dog food from the Hannaford's supermarket for that pathetic animal the Fletchers kept tied to a clothesline yet hardly ever bothered to feed.
He wasn't proud of the list, but he told himself it really wasn't all that long and he'd never been caught.
The truth was he'd never owned very much, or cared a whole lot for whatever he had. His CD player, maybe, and some of his CDs. But there was no future in things, because things didn't go with you.
Most things, anyway. You took what you could in a couple of plastic garbage bags and a suitcase--unlike a lot of kids, he actually had one--and that was pretty much the rule. He'd been with the Sheldons since Labor Day Weekend, and he didn't think he'd collected more than two or three things he'd take with him when he left. He'd take some of the new clothes, of course, but he'd leave behind the shirts and the pants he was getting too big for. He'd take his buffalo soldier cap, that was cool. And he'd take the football.
Was there anything else? Some food, maybe. Laura hadn't noticed, but in the back of his closet he'd been building up his small store of provisions. That was one of the first things you learned: Always have rations handy in case they move you out fast, because there's no telling what kind of food will be waiting for you at the next stop. So far he'd amassed Twinkies, canned peaches (along with one of the two can openers Laura had in a drawer that was positively overflowing with kitchen utensils), and four of those
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