The Bottom Feeders and Other Stories by Aaron Polson

to what remained of his friend.
    Mrs. Bowman offered Albert a glass of water,
and he sat sipping in silence. For her part, Mrs. Bowman bustled
about the kitchen, finishing dinner dishes and scrubbing the stove
top. She tried to ignore his presence, but seemed haunted by
something. The silence grew, Albert fidgeted on his stool until he
finally broke.
    “ What does the doctor
think, you know, about Lonnie’s condition?” he asked, blushing and
embarrassed like he was a child again.
    She stopped her bustle. “Doc Wilson doesn’t
know what to think. His tests come back showing anemia and all
sorts of malnutrition, but he can’t find any cause. He has these
pink marks, swollen in places—little lines, but the doctor doesn’t
know what they are.” She laid the dishtowel on the counter, and
shook her head lightly. “I don’t know what to do—”
    “ What to do about what?”
Owen stood at the entrance to the hallway, cradling a white cube
under his arm.
    Albert turned. “Nothing buddy. We were just
talking. You ready?”
    Owen nodded.
    Mrs. Bowman pinched her face into a forced
smile. “Thanks for coming. Really. I’m sure it meant so much to
Lonnie.” She paused for a moment, took a breath, and steadied
herself. “He’ll be back in school before you know it.”

    Father and son sat next to each other in
Albert’s car, both riding in silence and staring ahead into the
dark night. Something writhed in Albert’s memory, and every few
minutes he would glance at the Styrofoam box resting on his son’s
lap. His hands tightened on the steering wheel until the question
burned from his mouth.
    “ What’s in the box,
buddy?”
    Owen opened the lid slightly. “Just the
worms. The ones we dug out of old Jantz’s garden.” He pushed the
lid shut. “I’m sorry, Dad. Sorry about going there, lying…”
    Albert closed his eyes for a moment,
stuffing his memories further into his brain. He sighed. “It’s
okay, Owen.” He directed the car into their driveway.
    “ I think some of the worms
got out.”
    “ What?”
    “ Some of them got out.”
Owen pulled open the box again. “Only about half of them are
left.”

    “ I made him leave them in
the garage. For the night at least.” Albert thrust his hands under
his head and closed his eyes. He tried to relax as Meghan contorted
during her nightly yoga routine. “I think we should dump them in
the morning.”
    Meghan stood and stretched, exhaling as her
fingers extended to the ceiling. With a light sigh, she moved to
the side of the bed, flipped up the comforter, and slipped in
beside Albert. There was a purpose in her silence.
    “ Meghan?” Albert propped
his head on one arm.
    She closed her eyes. “Yes?”
    “ Don’t you think we should
dump the worms in the morning?”
    “ Look, bub, I don’t think
those worms have anything to do with Lonnie’s illness. They’re not
hurting anybody here.” She opened her eyes slowly and turned to
Albert. “As for Jantz—all that happened long ago. Ralph’s death
wasn’t your fault or Elroy Jantz’s.” Meghan touched his face lightly with her
hand. “That was all a long, long time ago.”

    The weekend filled with rain, but on Monday
morning Albert stood on the sidewalk in front of Elroy Jantz’s old
house, a weary bungalow just blocks from the local high school. The
old man was dead now, had been for the past eighteen months, but
Albert still heard the threats—angry words that kept him away from
that sidewalk for almost twenty-five years. He listened as the
bulldozer growled angrily, creaking and clanking toward the small
structure. His eyes seemed fixed on the house, but they saw a
different time.
    He remembered years before—a bright Saturday
afternoon when he rode to Jantz’s house with his friend, Ralph.
They crept through the old man’s back gate, slipped past the no
trespassing sign into his vegetable garden, and pawed in the rich
earth for the best bait worms in town. Jantz burst from his
backdoor,