still couldn’t move. “Goddamn it, boy, I said sit the fuck down!”
Jeremy’s knees were knocking and his eyes had grown two sizes too big for his head. “Do we really need to get the boy into—”
“Shut the fuck up!” Daddy backhanded the pistol across Jeremy’s face and the front sight caught just beneath his eye, cutting a sliver that shone white for a second before filling red. Gerald’s arms lifted from his knees and he looked like he might stand, but Daddy hammered the bottom of the magazine square into his nose and that knoll of flesh mashed flat. Under the bill of his Joy Dog Food trucker cap, Gerald’s eyes watered and he squinted to hold it in, but there was nothing to stop the fountain that dumped out of both nostrils, ran over his lips and chin like a stream over stone, and dripped into a stain on his undershirt. The Cabe brothers’ eyes were fixed on Daddy now, and it was a fear of what might happen when the trigger broke that held them there. I still hadn’t moved. “Jacob, I’ve already told you with my mouth.” He motioned with the pistol to the chair beside the couch. I scampered over to the chair and sat down, never taking my eyes off of Daddy or that gun. “What do you think happened, Jacob? Why do you think these two are piled up over there on the couch?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
“No, sir. I don’t reckon I do.”
“You don’t reckon you do.” Daddy smirked and sort of chuckled under his breath. “You don’t reckon you do. My own fucking flesh and blood, my own fucking son, and you don’t reckon you do!” In an instant Daddy had slid the pistol into the back of his sweatpants and was straddling me. His hands settled around my neck and squeezed so hard that in the first seconds I knew I was dying. There was no gradual rise into choking. I knew he was going to kill me. I was drowning in his hands, and the lights in the room were changing. I tried to breathe but there was nothing. I searched as hard as I could for air and there was nothing, and I knew I wouldn’t last a second more, and just before it all went black, Jeremy rose out of the corner of my eye.
Daddy was off me and had the gun back out in one clean motion, and he hammered the side of the pistol into Jeremy’s face, sent his skinny frame flying and falling limp beside his brother. Gerald started to rise again and Daddy yanked the slide back, pulled the trigger just as the hammer set.
BOOM!
The shot ripped apart music still blaring from speakers and my ears rang as I coughed for breath. My eyes jumped to where Gerald had sat, and as my vision cleared, I was sure I’d find a mess in that first moment of clarity. I was certain there would be an entry hole .45 inches wide in Gerald’s forehead, a splash of color on the picture that hung behind the couch, pieces of brain spread like bits of ground sausage on the hardwood, but there wasn’t. There was a hole exactly .45 inches wide in the wall just to the right of where Gerald’s head had risen.
We held there silent as prayer when Daddy walked into the kitchen. None of us moved an inch while Daddy turned up a bottle of bourbon and breathed through bubbles. He set the bottle down calmly on the kitchen table and ran his forearm across his mouth to dry what spilt. Daddy pulled a crumpled soft pack of smokes from the pocket of his sweatpants and flipped a Winston into his lips. He lit the cigarette and returned.
“Now I’m done with the bullshit.” That animal look about him had sobered and Daddy was back to that crazy sort of calmness I knew well, a part of him that I honestly feared more than rage. “Y’all are family. Y’all are all I’ve got in this world. But I want y’all to understand one thing. Nobody says another goddamn word until I’m finished talking. You got that?”
No one nodded. No one moved. No one said a fucking word.
“We’ve already been talking, Jacob, but I reckon I’m going to have to back up a bit to get
Jeremy’s knees were knocking and his eyes had grown two sizes too big for his head. “Do we really need to get the boy into—”
“Shut the fuck up!” Daddy backhanded the pistol across Jeremy’s face and the front sight caught just beneath his eye, cutting a sliver that shone white for a second before filling red. Gerald’s arms lifted from his knees and he looked like he might stand, but Daddy hammered the bottom of the magazine square into his nose and that knoll of flesh mashed flat. Under the bill of his Joy Dog Food trucker cap, Gerald’s eyes watered and he squinted to hold it in, but there was nothing to stop the fountain that dumped out of both nostrils, ran over his lips and chin like a stream over stone, and dripped into a stain on his undershirt. The Cabe brothers’ eyes were fixed on Daddy now, and it was a fear of what might happen when the trigger broke that held them there. I still hadn’t moved. “Jacob, I’ve already told you with my mouth.” He motioned with the pistol to the chair beside the couch. I scampered over to the chair and sat down, never taking my eyes off of Daddy or that gun. “What do you think happened, Jacob? Why do you think these two are piled up over there on the couch?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
“No, sir. I don’t reckon I do.”
“You don’t reckon you do.” Daddy smirked and sort of chuckled under his breath. “You don’t reckon you do. My own fucking flesh and blood, my own fucking son, and you don’t reckon you do!” In an instant Daddy had slid the pistol into the back of his sweatpants and was straddling me. His hands settled around my neck and squeezed so hard that in the first seconds I knew I was dying. There was no gradual rise into choking. I knew he was going to kill me. I was drowning in his hands, and the lights in the room were changing. I tried to breathe but there was nothing. I searched as hard as I could for air and there was nothing, and I knew I wouldn’t last a second more, and just before it all went black, Jeremy rose out of the corner of my eye.
Daddy was off me and had the gun back out in one clean motion, and he hammered the side of the pistol into Jeremy’s face, sent his skinny frame flying and falling limp beside his brother. Gerald started to rise again and Daddy yanked the slide back, pulled the trigger just as the hammer set.
BOOM!
The shot ripped apart music still blaring from speakers and my ears rang as I coughed for breath. My eyes jumped to where Gerald had sat, and as my vision cleared, I was sure I’d find a mess in that first moment of clarity. I was certain there would be an entry hole .45 inches wide in Gerald’s forehead, a splash of color on the picture that hung behind the couch, pieces of brain spread like bits of ground sausage on the hardwood, but there wasn’t. There was a hole exactly .45 inches wide in the wall just to the right of where Gerald’s head had risen.
We held there silent as prayer when Daddy walked into the kitchen. None of us moved an inch while Daddy turned up a bottle of bourbon and breathed through bubbles. He set the bottle down calmly on the kitchen table and ran his forearm across his mouth to dry what spilt. Daddy pulled a crumpled soft pack of smokes from the pocket of his sweatpants and flipped a Winston into his lips. He lit the cigarette and returned.
“Now I’m done with the bullshit.” That animal look about him had sobered and Daddy was back to that crazy sort of calmness I knew well, a part of him that I honestly feared more than rage. “Y’all are family. Y’all are all I’ve got in this world. But I want y’all to understand one thing. Nobody says another goddamn word until I’m finished talking. You got that?”
No one nodded. No one moved. No one said a fucking word.
“We’ve already been talking, Jacob, but I reckon I’m going to have to back up a bit to get
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