many times over the years. There are also unhappy memories, like the ones I get looking at the spot where Jarrod parked his truck. And beat the crap out of my Mother.
“The prodigal son returns,” a voice startles me from the darkness past the driveway.
“Graham.”
“May I?” he requests comically, pointing to the step on which I reside.
“Absolutely.”
There is a moment of quiet, then my mother can be heard from inside. A huge Thanksgiving feast is in the works and she hasn’t a second to spare. Except to watch The Wheel of course .
“How long you back for?”
“How ya been Dylan,” I announce theatrically. “How’s the Army. Make any new friends?”
“That’s not how this works buddy,” he whispers, looking over his shoulder and waving at my mother as she passes.
“I’m out for good, a free man come home to see his mother.”
“Congratulations.”
“Why is it I don’t believe you?”
“You’re looking at this the wrong way Dylan.”
“How should I look at it?”
“None of this is going to last buddy,” he offers waving a hand around his head. “You might think you can build something from this spot on the game board, but you’d be wrong. No matter what you roll, the next move you make is GO TO JAIL, DO NOT PASS GO .”
“Could you possibly be more cryptic?”
“Probably not,” he admits. “How shall I explain the future?”
“The what?”
“The future. How about this,” he sighs and pauses, looking across the street at Lance’s house. “The guy across the street might look like your adversary now, but give it just a little more time. A year from now you might be glad you didn’t make him your enemy.”
“A year from now?”
“Slightly less,” he corrects himself, pausing to think on it.
“What are you not telling me Graham?”
“Just making a suggestion,” he offers, putting a hand on my shoulder. “You should think about how this affects other people as well, not just you?”
“What,” I say a bit too loud then lower my voice. “Is this about my mom?”
“I didn’t say anything like that,” he balks, putting up both hands. “I was thinking about her,” he explains, nodding at Lance and Izzy’s house.
“She’s a big girl.”
“Might look that way, but she’s a long way from home. We all are.”
“How’s Violet?” I needle him, changing the subject.
“Washing her car last time you were home scored you serious points,” he chuckles. “You were all she could talk about. She’s doing great.”
“She’s a prostitute,” I add, trying to hurt him a little, but unsure why.
“She was,” he admits, seemingly unaffected by my slur. “She runs a little florist shop in Abilene now.”
“You guys?”
“Not in a while.”
“No fairytale movie ending,” I suggest. “The working girl and guy from the other side of the tracks.”
“Might have been, but I can’t just up and move.”
“Too busy babysitting Mr. Dibble?”
“As a matter of fact, yes,” he snaps as if I don’t understand his situation.
“Well, I hope the two of you are very happy,” I sigh, standing and backing up to the door. “I gotta get some sleep. Will I see you for a turkey leg tomorrow?”
“No doubt you will,” he replies, looking back over his shoulder. “Think about what I said.”
“Which part?”
“Pick your enemies carefully,” he warns me, never looking back.
Once he disappears into his house I am left to ponder his words. Am I trying to make Lance my enemy?
…
I watch the red numbers on the alarm clock flip for hours. It’s cool outside, but feels stuffy in my room. I wait till midnight before pulling up the window in the bathroom and climbing out on the worn roof shingles. On my second shuffled move a shingle pulls free and I almost slide off into the bushes. Barley catching myself, I slip around to the chimney and climb down. This plan almost ended before it got started.
Rather than walk around to the front of the house,
“The prodigal son returns,” a voice startles me from the darkness past the driveway.
“Graham.”
“May I?” he requests comically, pointing to the step on which I reside.
“Absolutely.”
There is a moment of quiet, then my mother can be heard from inside. A huge Thanksgiving feast is in the works and she hasn’t a second to spare. Except to watch The Wheel of course .
“How long you back for?”
“How ya been Dylan,” I announce theatrically. “How’s the Army. Make any new friends?”
“That’s not how this works buddy,” he whispers, looking over his shoulder and waving at my mother as she passes.
“I’m out for good, a free man come home to see his mother.”
“Congratulations.”
“Why is it I don’t believe you?”
“You’re looking at this the wrong way Dylan.”
“How should I look at it?”
“None of this is going to last buddy,” he offers waving a hand around his head. “You might think you can build something from this spot on the game board, but you’d be wrong. No matter what you roll, the next move you make is GO TO JAIL, DO NOT PASS GO .”
“Could you possibly be more cryptic?”
“Probably not,” he admits. “How shall I explain the future?”
“The what?”
“The future. How about this,” he sighs and pauses, looking across the street at Lance’s house. “The guy across the street might look like your adversary now, but give it just a little more time. A year from now you might be glad you didn’t make him your enemy.”
“A year from now?”
“Slightly less,” he corrects himself, pausing to think on it.
“What are you not telling me Graham?”
“Just making a suggestion,” he offers, putting a hand on my shoulder. “You should think about how this affects other people as well, not just you?”
“What,” I say a bit too loud then lower my voice. “Is this about my mom?”
“I didn’t say anything like that,” he balks, putting up both hands. “I was thinking about her,” he explains, nodding at Lance and Izzy’s house.
“She’s a big girl.”
“Might look that way, but she’s a long way from home. We all are.”
“How’s Violet?” I needle him, changing the subject.
“Washing her car last time you were home scored you serious points,” he chuckles. “You were all she could talk about. She’s doing great.”
“She’s a prostitute,” I add, trying to hurt him a little, but unsure why.
“She was,” he admits, seemingly unaffected by my slur. “She runs a little florist shop in Abilene now.”
“You guys?”
“Not in a while.”
“No fairytale movie ending,” I suggest. “The working girl and guy from the other side of the tracks.”
“Might have been, but I can’t just up and move.”
“Too busy babysitting Mr. Dibble?”
“As a matter of fact, yes,” he snaps as if I don’t understand his situation.
“Well, I hope the two of you are very happy,” I sigh, standing and backing up to the door. “I gotta get some sleep. Will I see you for a turkey leg tomorrow?”
“No doubt you will,” he replies, looking back over his shoulder. “Think about what I said.”
“Which part?”
“Pick your enemies carefully,” he warns me, never looking back.
Once he disappears into his house I am left to ponder his words. Am I trying to make Lance my enemy?
…
I watch the red numbers on the alarm clock flip for hours. It’s cool outside, but feels stuffy in my room. I wait till midnight before pulling up the window in the bathroom and climbing out on the worn roof shingles. On my second shuffled move a shingle pulls free and I almost slide off into the bushes. Barley catching myself, I slip around to the chimney and climb down. This plan almost ended before it got started.
Rather than walk around to the front of the house,
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