faraway tribe.
So while I know what Randy has in mind when he waves me over and makes a toking gesture obvious enough to show he doesn’t really care who knows, there’s something subdued in his expression, worried quarter moons of darkness under his eyes that tell methere’s more going on in Carl’s Ford than a bunch of guys getting high before chemistry.
“We’re having a meeting,” Randy says as we make our way through the rows of cars. “Ben has something he wants to say.”
“Is this more bullshit about what he said he saw?”
“He wants us all together first.”
“But you’ve guessed.”
Randy pauses at the car, his fingers slipping under the passenger-side door handle. “I’ve just got a feeling I’d rather be stoned when I hear it, that’s all,” he says.
We pile in. Carl behind the wheel, Ben hugging the glovebox to let me and Randy slip into the back.
“Ready?” Randy asks.
“Ready,” Carl answers, clicking the power window buttons, making sure we’re sealed in.
As Randy pulls the baggie out of his boot, Ben shifts around in the front seat, taking each of us in, one at a time. A kind of silent roll call that would be funny if attempted by anyone else. But laughing is out of the question. It intensifies the one sound to concentrate on: Randy, who clinks his Zippo open and sucks the joint to life.
“We have to go in,” Ben says.
None of us say anything. It’s as though Ben had not uttered the sentence we’d all just heard. Or perhaps we were trying to pretend it was a sentence that didn’t properly belong to the moment, a glitch in the soundtrack.
Then he says it again.
“We have to go into the house.”
“
What
house?”
“Nice try, Randy,” Carl says.
Randy shrugs, passing up to Carl while waving a hand to sweep the smoke that escapes his nostrils back into his mouth.
“I don’t see why we have to do anything,” I say. “It’s not our issue.”
“You’re right. It’s not an issue,” Ben says. “It’s a human being.”
“You’re saying Heather’s still in there? You saw something new last night?”
“I watched. Stayed up till dawn watching,” Ben says. “But no. I didn’t see anything.”
“So how do you know she’s in there?”
“I’m saying she might be. And if she is, she needs help. Our help.”
Randy rubs the elbow of his shirt over the window, clearing a circle from the condensation. He stares out at a group of girls in designer jeans climbing the hill toward school, their backsides swaying with each step, before they disappear behind the returning mist of his breath.
“Here’s the thing I don’t get,” Randy says. “What does this have to do with us? Maybe
you
, Ben. But I wasn’t the one up in your room spooking myself shitless. I didn’t see a thing. So where do I come into it? Where does anyone but you come into it?”
Ben nods. “You didn’t see what I saw. But now you
know
what I saw. Which amounts to the same thing.”
“It does?” Randy says. “Yeah, I guess it does.”
“No, it doesn’t,” I say, taking the joint Randy offers me. “We’re
not
involved. And that’s how it should stay.We go into that house and if—and this is a big mother of an if—
if
something’s happened in—”
“Don’t bogart that thing,” Carl warns. I take a perfunctory haul and pass it on.
“What I’m saying is that if we go in there and find something bad, we’re part of it. We’re implicated, or whatever.”
“Implicated,” Carl says. “Very good, Trev.”
He waves the joint by Ben. Ben only rarely partakes on these smoky mornings, so he surprises us by expertly nabbing it before it’s out of reach. A quick hit and his eyes turn glassy, the whites bleached clear.
“She’s missing,” Ben says. “And we have a piece of information nobody else has. It’s a question not of whether it would be right to act on it, but of how wrong it would be if we didn’t.”
“Fine,” I say, exhaling a blue cloud against
So while I know what Randy has in mind when he waves me over and makes a toking gesture obvious enough to show he doesn’t really care who knows, there’s something subdued in his expression, worried quarter moons of darkness under his eyes that tell methere’s more going on in Carl’s Ford than a bunch of guys getting high before chemistry.
“We’re having a meeting,” Randy says as we make our way through the rows of cars. “Ben has something he wants to say.”
“Is this more bullshit about what he said he saw?”
“He wants us all together first.”
“But you’ve guessed.”
Randy pauses at the car, his fingers slipping under the passenger-side door handle. “I’ve just got a feeling I’d rather be stoned when I hear it, that’s all,” he says.
We pile in. Carl behind the wheel, Ben hugging the glovebox to let me and Randy slip into the back.
“Ready?” Randy asks.
“Ready,” Carl answers, clicking the power window buttons, making sure we’re sealed in.
As Randy pulls the baggie out of his boot, Ben shifts around in the front seat, taking each of us in, one at a time. A kind of silent roll call that would be funny if attempted by anyone else. But laughing is out of the question. It intensifies the one sound to concentrate on: Randy, who clinks his Zippo open and sucks the joint to life.
“We have to go in,” Ben says.
None of us say anything. It’s as though Ben had not uttered the sentence we’d all just heard. Or perhaps we were trying to pretend it was a sentence that didn’t properly belong to the moment, a glitch in the soundtrack.
Then he says it again.
“We have to go into the house.”
“
What
house?”
“Nice try, Randy,” Carl says.
Randy shrugs, passing up to Carl while waving a hand to sweep the smoke that escapes his nostrils back into his mouth.
“I don’t see why we have to do anything,” I say. “It’s not our issue.”
“You’re right. It’s not an issue,” Ben says. “It’s a human being.”
“You’re saying Heather’s still in there? You saw something new last night?”
“I watched. Stayed up till dawn watching,” Ben says. “But no. I didn’t see anything.”
“So how do you know she’s in there?”
“I’m saying she might be. And if she is, she needs help. Our help.”
Randy rubs the elbow of his shirt over the window, clearing a circle from the condensation. He stares out at a group of girls in designer jeans climbing the hill toward school, their backsides swaying with each step, before they disappear behind the returning mist of his breath.
“Here’s the thing I don’t get,” Randy says. “What does this have to do with us? Maybe
you
, Ben. But I wasn’t the one up in your room spooking myself shitless. I didn’t see a thing. So where do I come into it? Where does anyone but you come into it?”
Ben nods. “You didn’t see what I saw. But now you
know
what I saw. Which amounts to the same thing.”
“It does?” Randy says. “Yeah, I guess it does.”
“No, it doesn’t,” I say, taking the joint Randy offers me. “We’re
not
involved. And that’s how it should stay.We go into that house and if—and this is a big mother of an if—
if
something’s happened in—”
“Don’t bogart that thing,” Carl warns. I take a perfunctory haul and pass it on.
“What I’m saying is that if we go in there and find something bad, we’re part of it. We’re implicated, or whatever.”
“Implicated,” Carl says. “Very good, Trev.”
He waves the joint by Ben. Ben only rarely partakes on these smoky mornings, so he surprises us by expertly nabbing it before it’s out of reach. A quick hit and his eyes turn glassy, the whites bleached clear.
“She’s missing,” Ben says. “And we have a piece of information nobody else has. It’s a question not of whether it would be right to act on it, but of how wrong it would be if we didn’t.”
“Fine,” I say, exhaling a blue cloud against
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