Creeps by Darren Hynes Page B

Rita’s folksy voice makes Wayne drowsy, so he rests his head against the steering wheel and sleeps.

    Wayne’s choking on a Rice Krispie square as Nickelback sings that song from the first Spider-Man movie. Pete’s second dad must be stoking the fire still, because it’s so hot. Someone’s on top of him and it’s his father wanting to know why his son would eat yellow snow and piss his pants and run away instead of fighting. And Wayne tries to answer, but there’s no voice, and then his father is laughingand drinking Bacardi Dark and some of it spills into Wayne’s eyes and it burns and he cries out—
    He wakes and sits back and tries to catch his breath. Wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and turns off the heat because it’s like a sauna. It’s dark outside. He looks at the time and it’s nearly four-thirty and his mother must be getting supper ready while Wanda drinks Diet Coke and dreams of being kidnapped and taken on tour by Chad Kroeger.
    Then the door opens and his father is telling him to scoot over, so Wayne climbs into the passenger side and buckles his seat belt and thinks about walking instead. But then his father is backing out and putting the car in drive and the wheels are spinning on the ice for ages until finding traction. No signal light when his father makes a left onto Marconi Street. No stopping at the stop sign farther along, either. A motorist coming in the other direction blasts her horn because she’s supposed to have the right-of-way.
    â€œSlow down,” Wayne says.
    His father doesn’t. Takes the turn onto Glendale Street too sharply and the car fishtails and Wayne presses his palms against the dash and a light pole nearly takes out the side mirror.
    â€œDad!”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œYou’re all over the road!”
    His father eases up on the gas and pushes in the car lighter. After a while he says, “If your mother asks, Pete’s father handed me a beer and what, I’m supposed to refuse a man in his own house?” He fumbles for his cigarettes. “Don’t mention that I was smoking in the car, either.” He frees one from the pack and jams it between his lips and then takes the left onto Willow Avenue.
    In the silence, Wayne breathes in rum and wonders if it’s possible to get drunk off the fumes, then the lighter pops and his father grabs it and lights his cigarette and blows a steady stream of smoke out through his nose. Cracks the window.
    No words between them.
    His dad puffs.
    Wayne steals glances at the speedometer.
    A long ash on the cigarette now, which his father tries flicking out the window, but it lands on his pants, so he curses and tries wiping it away and doesn’t see the yellow light that’s turning red up ahead nor the lady and her border collie, so Wayne shouts “Dad!” and his father looks up and brakes hard and the car slides halfway into the intersection.
    â€œWatch where you’re going!” screams the woman, showing her middle finger. Her dog barks and gets to its hind legs.
    His father goes to back up, but there’s a car waiting, so he stays where he is.
    â€œI’ve got your licence plate number,” says the woman.
    His dad ignores her and when the light turns green he stomps on the gas like his foot’s a hundred pounds and soon the woman and her dog disappear so completely into the blackness that Wayne’s not sure they were there at all.
    His father throws his cigarette out the window and turns onto Lakeside Drive. Then he’s shaking his head and cursing under his breath and when Wayne asks, he says, “Don’t ever eat yellow snow again.”
    Wayne looks away, out the passenger-side window. Grips the door handle because home’s not far away and he longs to be underneath his comforter where, if he tries hard enough, he might be able to pretend that no piss had run down his leg, and no old lady had been staring