The Falls by Eric Walters

was a leather jacket—he wore a leather jacket. That’s what Candice’s old man had said. And he was probably big. His father was big, and I was big for my age, so that had to make sense. My father was probably a big guy.
    I opened my eyes. That wasn’t much of a picture. More gaps than glimpses. Sort of like last night. Last night I could do something about. I started walking again. Talking to Timmy might at least close one gap.
    I came up to the Donut Hole. I peered in through the window, checking the booth that Timmy liked in the back, and then scanning the other booths and the stools at the counter. He wasn’t there, but a couple of guys I knew saw me and waved. I waved back. Neither of them had been out at the power plant last night—so far as I could remember—so they wouldn’t be able to help fill in the blank spots.
    There had to be at least a dozen different places Timmy could be, including his house. I looked at my watch. It was almost three in the afternoon. The house was probably the last place to look. Timmy slept in till noon sometimes, especially after a night that went as long as I figured the night before had gone, but then he always cleared out as soon as he got up. Maybe I should start at the arcade or the—
    â€œHey, Jay!”
    I turned around. It was Timmy! He was waving his hands over his head. He ran across the street, barely dodging cars filled with tourists. One of the cars slowed down, changed lanes, and honked at him. Timmy blew a kiss and then gave them the finger.
    â€œI’ve been looking for you,” I said.
    â€œYou would have found me a minute ago if you’d stayed home.”
    â€œYou were at my place?”
    â€œJust came from there. Your mother didn’t seem to be her usual cheerful self.” He paused. “Matter of fact, she acted real ticked off.”
    â€œShe is. That’s why I left.”
    â€œWelcome to the club.”
    â€œI guess I can’t blame her,” I said. “Coming home drunk, covered in puke and missing a shoe.”
    â€œYour shoe, that’s right. It’s at my house.”
    â€œMy other shoe is at your house?”
    He nodded his head.
    â€œWhy do you have my shoe?” I asked.
    â€œBecause you gave it to me.”
    â€œWhy would I give you my shoe?”
    Timmy laughed. “You know, you were pretty drunk.”
    â€œThat’s about the only part I do know for sure. But why would I give you my shoe?”
    â€œYou said I was like your brother, and since I’d shared my great gift of alcohol with you, you wanted to share your greatest possession with me—your shoes.”
    â€œCome on.”
    â€œYou made a really big speech. And then you decided it would be better to just give me one shoe and you’d keep the other. You said instead of blood brothers we’d be Nike brothers.”
    â€œMan, I don’t remember any of that.”
    Timmy started to laugh. “Then I guess you don’t remember picking a fight with a couple of the guys.”
    â€œI picked a fight?”
    â€œTwo fights. One with Tommy and the other with Justin.”
    â€œBut those are my friends. Why would I pick a fight with them?”
    â€œYou thought they were trying to pick up Candice,” Timmy said. “You started yelling at them, telling them that she was
only a child
and—”
    â€œShe
is
only a child. She’s only twelve!”
    â€œYeah, I know. Everybody knows. You kept telling everybody at the top of your lungs.”
    â€œI can’t remember any of that,” I said, shaking my head.
    â€œAnd then you threatened to fight people—everybody— including all the girls, and you started to call people perverts and child molesters for even thinking about being with her.” Timmy paused. “Although I thought that was pretty funny, because didn’t
you
want to be with her?”
    â€œBefore I found out how young she