I'd Walk with My Friends If I Could Find Them

I'd Walk with My Friends If I Could Find Them by Jesse Goolsby Page A

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Authors: Jesse Goolsby
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first.”
    â€œWhere you from?”
    â€œDelaware.”
    â€œThe whole state?”
    â€œDover.”
    â€œWhy are you in Rutherford if you’re from Delaware?”
    â€œYou talk too much,” she says.
    â€œBitch, please,” Alston says, “people should talk more.” He reaches into his shorts, pulls out a pack of Camels, selects one in the middle, and lights it.
    â€œHere,” he says, holding out the pack to Janelle. “I can tell you smoke.”
    She accepts one and Alston reaches across Dax and lights it for her, cupping the flame with his opposite hand although there’s no hint of wind. Dax glances at her face, her thin nose and dark eyes, then her long legs. His body tightens, but when she glances back at him he knows right away she’s not interested. She looks at him as many have, as a slight physical freak—a grown-man body at seventeen—that’s worth a second glance, and that’s all. Dax shakes his size 15 basketball shoes and wonders when he’ll stop growing.
    â€œI’m trying to get this one to start,” Alston says, exhaling a cloud of smoke.
    â€œNot a chance,” Dax says. “I like my lungs without the crap they put on the roads.”
    â€œIt’s different tar,” Janelle says. “This is good tar. Helps you breathe.” She smiles for the first time and shows her perfectly white, crooked teeth.
    The three of them stay quiet for a while under a partly cloudy April afternoon. The low grunts of the Rutherford girls’ number one rise to high-pitched shrieks as she volleys, retreats, then hammers a cross-court winner to take the first set.
    â€œDruggie parents?” Alston says.
    â€œNo,” Janelle says.
    â€œSo?”
    â€œSo what?” she says.
    â€œSo what’s the story? You’re what, seventeen? Eighteen? You’re in Rutherford, New Jersey, sitting with two fucks at a stupid-ass tennis match, and you don’t play tennis. You probably already know you’re going to take off if you’ve spent over a week at the Conleys’. But we’re not there yet. What’s up with your parents?”
    â€œYou’re pretty stupid, aren’t you?”
    â€œYes, but you’re still sitting here with me and Dax.”
    â€œDax isn’t a name.”
    â€œHe’s sitting right here,” Alston says.
    â€œAre you stupid like this one?” she asks Dax.
    â€œHe’s not the most talkative,” Alston says.
    â€œI’m talkative,” Dax says. “What do you want to know?”
    â€œTell me about anything.”
    â€œOkay. If you keep throwing up at our tennis matches, coach’ll kick us off the team and we’ll have to sit through history class more often.”
    â€œDid you throw up?” Janelle says.
    â€œDo I seem like someone who throws up in the afternoon?”
    â€œYou look like someone who flinches.”
    â€œWhat?”
    Dax yanks up a balled fist and Alston jerks away.
    â€œI’ll kill you, Dax.”
    â€œYou’re a shit talker, but I didn’t say that was bad,” Janelle says.
    â€œShit. I’ve never flinched. I’ve hurt people.”
    â€œWhere?” she says, smiling.
    â€œWhere?”
    â€œYes, where did you hurt people? Tell me where you were when you hurt all these poor souls.”
    Alston takes a drag.
    â€œEverywhere. That’s what you need to know. In the Bronx. In Canada. In your back yard.”
    â€œThat doesn’t make sense,” Dax says.
    â€œI’m not done. Here, in Rutherford. In fucking Finland and Egypt and Iraq.”
    â€œWow,” Janelle says. “World traveler.”
    â€œWhere you going to go?” Alston says.
    â€œWhen?”
    â€œWhen Conley accidentally walks in on you taking a shower.”
    â€œYou don’t know shit.”
    â€œYep. But where?”
    â€œTo your house.”
    â€œTake Union to Springfield, couple

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