Away From Everywhere by Chad Pelley Page B

day, well into his pursuit of her, he joined Abbie outside as she finished a cigarette on her break. They were talking music. She offered him one of her earphones and introduced him to Nirvana. He reached out for the earphone, but she stuck it in his ear herself. The way her fingers ran down his earlobe convinced him that she felt something for him too. He felt the elation of knowing his courting her these last five weeks was working. As for the band, Nirvana, there was something fresh there, something new and so totally their age. And if she liked them, he’d go out and buy the album that night, just to be that much closer to knowing her.

    July third, to Owen and Alex, became a day as significant as their birthdays, as significant as Christmas Day and New Year’s Eve. They had just graduated high school. It was a balmy summer’s night – shirts clung to sweaty bodies and they had three fans going in the living room. They were watching TV, eating a chicken and rice casserole they’d eaten far too much of since their mother was always so busy now . When she called for someone to come pick her up that night, she was particularly cheery.
    â€œHell ll-o , lovely! Momma’s ready when you are.”
    As always, because of Abbie, Owen went to pick her up. He dropped his fork, the plate still half full, and pulled on his shoes as he chewed his last mouthful of rice.
    He headed for the shelter, desperately hoping to see Abbie waiting outside with his mother. He daydreamed of her confessing her love, or at least asking him to a movie. Sure. He’d say it nonchalantly. He practiced a warm-but-not-desperate tone. He pictured himself calling her, contemplating the opening lines, the options: Hello or hi , or hey Abbie? Hey Ab? Maybe hiya . You can come at some girls with a hiya , he figured. Girls like Abbie anyway.
    But as he approached the building, neither of them was outside. They were both inside the door, trying to tug it shut as a man tried to force his way in. His arm, from the elbow up, was trapped between the door and the door frame, and he squealed in pain as they rocked the door against him.
    Owen parked the car and met his mother’s frightened eyes: the blue cast out of them by the black of her dilated pupils. She shook her head and yelled, bashing a palm off the glass of the window. “Owen! Stay! Stay in that car,Owen! Owen, you stay in that CAR! ”
    Adrenaline made the man look more manageable, less dangerous.
    â€œOwen, don’t! Stay in the car, lock the door! The police’ll be here any minute! Owen, the police are on the way! Janine’s on the phone with them.”
    Only in hindsight was it obvious that Jim Croaker – drunk and reeking of stale whiskey – could never have pried open that door.
    There was something disgusting and inhuman about the shape of his face: the features so small and indistinct and rat-like. And the way he ground his teeth. His faded jeans were stained with blobs of motor oil, some fresh and some set, and his black track jacket reeked of sugary, cheap whiskey. His jacket was only half zipped, and a gold chain disappeared into a thick mat of chest hair lining the edges of his white tank top. Owen recognized him as Jim Croaker from Abbie’s description: “A badly groomed mustache and hair so greasy you want to vomit.” Jim had been desperate to get inside the shelter for over a month now, to apologize to his fiancée with his fists and insincere words. The last call to the police station had only kept him away for a week.
    â€œ You fucken whores! ” He tugged at the door, and both of their bodies rocked with it. “I’m going to kill both of you sluts! Do you hear me! I am going to stamp your skulls into dust, right fucken here on this pavement!” His pasty white saliva sprayed on the window before their faces.
    Owen figured he could easily take Jim down from behind, since he was pinned in the doorframe and