in his favor.
Mark stepped forward, and the being inside the house filtered backward into darkness and invisibility. If he wished to hold on to its approval, he could go no farther.
Behind him, a voice said, “Yo, don’t you ever do anything else?”
Startled, Mark jumped. Jimbo stepped up beside him and laughed. He jabbed the nose of his skateboard into Mark’s back. “You jumped a mile!”
“You surprised me,” Mark said. “What are you doing up so early anyway?”
“My mom freaked when she saw the paper this morning. Remember the cop showing us that picture of the missing kid?”
“Shane Auslander,” Mark said. “Yeah, I saw that story, too. I bet she wants you never to go back to the fountain.”
“I had to promise her,” Jimbo said. “You look like shit. Honest to God. Didn’t you get any sleep last night?”
Mark could not tell Jimbo about anything that had happened to him since they had last seen each other. It felt completely private, like a secret only he could know. “I slept fine. Like a baby. Like a log. Like the
dead
. Now tell me something, bro. Do you think that house is really empty? Completely empty?”
“Here we go again,” Jimbo said. “Wanna go to the dump and shoot rats?”
“No,
do
you? I mean it.”
Jimbo cast an irritated glance at the house, then looked back at Mark. “Isn’t that what got you started in the first place? That it was empty?”
“That was part of it, yeah. That the place was empty. In a neighborhood like this, you’d think an empty house would stick out.”
“More like it fades out,” Jimbo said. “Honest, I don’t get what the big deal is here.”
“Maybe I ought to get inside there one of these days. Find out for sure.”
Jimbo raised his hands and stepped back. “Are you nuts? You want to see inside? Take a look in the window.”
Mark knew he could not do that. The force field kept him at the distance of the sidewalk. It would be easier for him to break in than to walk up the path, mount the steps, and stare into the window through which he had seen that shadowy figure.
“Let’s go to my house, so I can get my board,” he said.
For the rest of the day, they rolled down the handicapped ramps and wide concrete steps of an abandoned construction site located on Burleigh, a short bus ride away. Mark forced himself not to speak about 3323 North Michigan Street, and Jimbo was so grateful that he took pains to veer around the subject whenever it threatened to draw near. They had the place to themselves. No older kids showed up to make fun of their technique or to try to bully them out of their equipment. No aloof, silent loner appeared, as sometimes happened, to shame them with the chasm between their skills and his. Both Mark and Jimbo made three failed attempts to jump across a three-foot gap in a concrete railing; they scraped their wrists and acquired bruises on their shins, but did no serious damage to themselves. Around noon, they rolled down the block to a BK for bacon double cheeseburgers, fries, and chocolate shakes, and while they feasted they agreed that Eminem had changed hip-hop forever, yo, and that Stephin Merritt was the best singer of Stephin Merritt songs. After their lunch, they trundled back on their handsome boards to the construction site and rubbed their sore spots and decided to take another shot at that gap in the concrete railing. Both of them made it across on their first after-lunch attempt, and in the words of Eminem, they asked the world if they could have its attention, please? For the rest of the afternoon, leaving aside a few minor falls, it was as if they could not make a mistake, either of them, and they rode the bus back to Sherman Boulevard in happy and proud exhaustion, fondling their scrapes and bruises like medals. They would never again share a day of such uncomplicated pleasures; it was the last time they were ever able to enjoy themselves in this way, together, like the boys they were.
9
By
Mark stepped forward, and the being inside the house filtered backward into darkness and invisibility. If he wished to hold on to its approval, he could go no farther.
Behind him, a voice said, “Yo, don’t you ever do anything else?”
Startled, Mark jumped. Jimbo stepped up beside him and laughed. He jabbed the nose of his skateboard into Mark’s back. “You jumped a mile!”
“You surprised me,” Mark said. “What are you doing up so early anyway?”
“My mom freaked when she saw the paper this morning. Remember the cop showing us that picture of the missing kid?”
“Shane Auslander,” Mark said. “Yeah, I saw that story, too. I bet she wants you never to go back to the fountain.”
“I had to promise her,” Jimbo said. “You look like shit. Honest to God. Didn’t you get any sleep last night?”
Mark could not tell Jimbo about anything that had happened to him since they had last seen each other. It felt completely private, like a secret only he could know. “I slept fine. Like a baby. Like a log. Like the
dead
. Now tell me something, bro. Do you think that house is really empty? Completely empty?”
“Here we go again,” Jimbo said. “Wanna go to the dump and shoot rats?”
“No,
do
you? I mean it.”
Jimbo cast an irritated glance at the house, then looked back at Mark. “Isn’t that what got you started in the first place? That it was empty?”
“That was part of it, yeah. That the place was empty. In a neighborhood like this, you’d think an empty house would stick out.”
“More like it fades out,” Jimbo said. “Honest, I don’t get what the big deal is here.”
“Maybe I ought to get inside there one of these days. Find out for sure.”
Jimbo raised his hands and stepped back. “Are you nuts? You want to see inside? Take a look in the window.”
Mark knew he could not do that. The force field kept him at the distance of the sidewalk. It would be easier for him to break in than to walk up the path, mount the steps, and stare into the window through which he had seen that shadowy figure.
“Let’s go to my house, so I can get my board,” he said.
For the rest of the day, they rolled down the handicapped ramps and wide concrete steps of an abandoned construction site located on Burleigh, a short bus ride away. Mark forced himself not to speak about 3323 North Michigan Street, and Jimbo was so grateful that he took pains to veer around the subject whenever it threatened to draw near. They had the place to themselves. No older kids showed up to make fun of their technique or to try to bully them out of their equipment. No aloof, silent loner appeared, as sometimes happened, to shame them with the chasm between their skills and his. Both Mark and Jimbo made three failed attempts to jump across a three-foot gap in a concrete railing; they scraped their wrists and acquired bruises on their shins, but did no serious damage to themselves. Around noon, they rolled down the block to a BK for bacon double cheeseburgers, fries, and chocolate shakes, and while they feasted they agreed that Eminem had changed hip-hop forever, yo, and that Stephin Merritt was the best singer of Stephin Merritt songs. After their lunch, they trundled back on their handsome boards to the construction site and rubbed their sore spots and decided to take another shot at that gap in the concrete railing. Both of them made it across on their first after-lunch attempt, and in the words of Eminem, they asked the world if they could have its attention, please? For the rest of the afternoon, leaving aside a few minor falls, it was as if they could not make a mistake, either of them, and they rode the bus back to Sherman Boulevard in happy and proud exhaustion, fondling their scrapes and bruises like medals. They would never again share a day of such uncomplicated pleasures; it was the last time they were ever able to enjoy themselves in this way, together, like the boys they were.
9
By
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