noticed. But no, he’d fucked up, too busy worrying about Mike up there driving stoned. He turned, saw Mike sitting at the table eating a chicken leg. Without a word, he smacked the back of his head.
“Ow!” Mike grabbed his head. “What you do that for?”
“It was the weed. I’m back there worrying about you driving stoned, and I don’t think to look at her fuel gauge. Boost a truck that’s out of gas. Zeke would really like that.”
“Keep your voice down, man. You don’t want my granny hearing this.”
“I thought she was deaf.”
“Half deaf,” Mike said and went back to his chicken.
“We fucked up because I had to keep my eye on you, makingsure you drive straight, and there you go driving in circles and I’m trying to watch her, make sure she doesn’t flip and run.” Jesse turned back to the refrigerator, pushed past the foil-covered bowls. “I could use a beer. Don’t y’all keep any beer in this house?”
“She’s a Christian,” Mike said. “There’s some sweet tea there in the jar on the counter.” Mike took a sip of milk. He was glad his granny was half deaf back there in her bedroom, falling asleep, staring at people on TV. She’d never liked Jesse, said he was like that Eddie Haskell kid on TV, always smiling and nodding and up to no good. He was glad she was too weak to come to the kitchen without her walker. He’d had the sense to sneak in, grab her walker, and put it right in the kitchen by the stove. He’d make sure he put the walker back once he got Jesse settled down and sleeping on the sofa.
“I don’t want any sweet tea.” Jesse sat, looked at the cabinets. “I need something to eat.”
“Your stomach better now?”
“Yeah, I took care of it at that McDonald’s back there.”
“You always had that stomach thing?”
“Since I was a kid. Doctor says it’s nerves.” He went back to the refrigerator. “I don’t have any nerves. But I do need to eat something.”
“Have some fried chicken.” Mike lifted the foil off the platter on the table. “It’s good, man. She makes great fried chicken.”
“I don’t eat fried chicken.”
Mike took another chicken leg. He’d grabbed the first one while Jesse was outside pissing in the yard. “I’ve heard you say you like fried chicken. Everybody likes fried chicken.”
“I eat chicken strips,” Jesse said, “nice lean chicken strips. Nothing with a bone. It’s nasty.”
“Nasty?”
“I had this dog once, choked on a chicken bone.” Jesse glancedback, saw Mike looking at him. That was one thing he liked about Mike. He liked Jesse’s stories. He could listen to Jesse’s stories all day when most people didn’t give a damn. Except his mom. And Jenny. She listened to his stories. Jesse went to the kitchen window, looked out at the dark. “Her name was Pup. My momma didn’t want me having no dog, but I kept her, fed her scraps from my plate. I didn’t know a dog could die on chicken bones. But she choked, bone got stuck in her throat, and she just laid there, twitching on the sidewalk.” Jesse glanced at Mike, sitting there, just listening. “I was yelling to my mom to help her, but hell, no, she wasn’t home, just this man she kept around. He just sat on the front stoop, sipping his beer and watching.”
Jesse turned back to the window. “Pup finally stopped moving, and I guess I was crying or something. I was standing there, looking at Pup and all that blood. And he yells at me, ‘Just put the dead bitch in the trash.’ But I couldn’t move. I couldn’t stop looking at her. Then the bastard smacked the back of my head. Hard. It’s like I went blind for a second. I heard him saying, ‘Quit crying. Throw the bitch in the trash.’ I wanted to bury her, but he laughed and kept hitting. So I did it. I scooped her up with a shovel, and I tossed her in the Dumpster. I knew the rats would get her by morning. And that bastard, he sat there laughing, said, ‘You think that’s the worse thing
“Ow!” Mike grabbed his head. “What you do that for?”
“It was the weed. I’m back there worrying about you driving stoned, and I don’t think to look at her fuel gauge. Boost a truck that’s out of gas. Zeke would really like that.”
“Keep your voice down, man. You don’t want my granny hearing this.”
“I thought she was deaf.”
“Half deaf,” Mike said and went back to his chicken.
“We fucked up because I had to keep my eye on you, makingsure you drive straight, and there you go driving in circles and I’m trying to watch her, make sure she doesn’t flip and run.” Jesse turned back to the refrigerator, pushed past the foil-covered bowls. “I could use a beer. Don’t y’all keep any beer in this house?”
“She’s a Christian,” Mike said. “There’s some sweet tea there in the jar on the counter.” Mike took a sip of milk. He was glad his granny was half deaf back there in her bedroom, falling asleep, staring at people on TV. She’d never liked Jesse, said he was like that Eddie Haskell kid on TV, always smiling and nodding and up to no good. He was glad she was too weak to come to the kitchen without her walker. He’d had the sense to sneak in, grab her walker, and put it right in the kitchen by the stove. He’d make sure he put the walker back once he got Jesse settled down and sleeping on the sofa.
“I don’t want any sweet tea.” Jesse sat, looked at the cabinets. “I need something to eat.”
“Your stomach better now?”
“Yeah, I took care of it at that McDonald’s back there.”
“You always had that stomach thing?”
“Since I was a kid. Doctor says it’s nerves.” He went back to the refrigerator. “I don’t have any nerves. But I do need to eat something.”
“Have some fried chicken.” Mike lifted the foil off the platter on the table. “It’s good, man. She makes great fried chicken.”
“I don’t eat fried chicken.”
Mike took another chicken leg. He’d grabbed the first one while Jesse was outside pissing in the yard. “I’ve heard you say you like fried chicken. Everybody likes fried chicken.”
“I eat chicken strips,” Jesse said, “nice lean chicken strips. Nothing with a bone. It’s nasty.”
“Nasty?”
“I had this dog once, choked on a chicken bone.” Jesse glancedback, saw Mike looking at him. That was one thing he liked about Mike. He liked Jesse’s stories. He could listen to Jesse’s stories all day when most people didn’t give a damn. Except his mom. And Jenny. She listened to his stories. Jesse went to the kitchen window, looked out at the dark. “Her name was Pup. My momma didn’t want me having no dog, but I kept her, fed her scraps from my plate. I didn’t know a dog could die on chicken bones. But she choked, bone got stuck in her throat, and she just laid there, twitching on the sidewalk.” Jesse glanced at Mike, sitting there, just listening. “I was yelling to my mom to help her, but hell, no, she wasn’t home, just this man she kept around. He just sat on the front stoop, sipping his beer and watching.”
Jesse turned back to the window. “Pup finally stopped moving, and I guess I was crying or something. I was standing there, looking at Pup and all that blood. And he yells at me, ‘Just put the dead bitch in the trash.’ But I couldn’t move. I couldn’t stop looking at her. Then the bastard smacked the back of my head. Hard. It’s like I went blind for a second. I heard him saying, ‘Quit crying. Throw the bitch in the trash.’ I wanted to bury her, but he laughed and kept hitting. So I did it. I scooped her up with a shovel, and I tossed her in the Dumpster. I knew the rats would get her by morning. And that bastard, he sat there laughing, said, ‘You think that’s the worse thing
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