Roadside Bodhisattva (12 page)

Sid held one of the smaller chess pieces, tumbling it over his knuckles like a coin trick. I waited for him to speak. When he did, his words made no sense.

“How did you get out of the wreck?”

Angie reacted like he’d taken a small jab to the head. “Huh? What are you talking about?”

“The wreck that Tony died in. You said he wrapped the car around a tree. I can picture it being pretty bad. How did you escape without a scratch?”

“You’re crazy! I wasn’t in the car with him!”

Sid set down the chess piece and nodded. “Oh, I see. I thought different, from the way you talked. You weren’t behind the wheel? Your foot wasn’t on the pedals? You weren’t driving drunk? You didn’t nod off doing seventy at three am?”

Angie’s face was getting a little red now. “No, of course not. None of those things happened! I was home sleeping when Tony died.”

“Then why do you imagine you killed Tony?”

Angie sat there with his mouth open like a fish. It took him a whole minute to say something. “I gave him the car, you fucking idiot! I souped it up too!”

Sid sat back on the couch like he was defeated, ready to give up this line of talk. I could see now where he was going with it, of course, but Angie was too wrapped up in his old guilt to get Sid’s lesson.

“Angie,” Sid said in a calm voice, “Hand me that bottle of whiskey, please.”

Angie passed him the bottle. Sid took it by the neck. Then, before either of us could see what he planned, Sid swung the bottle against an endtable. The noise of crashing glass and splashing liquor made me and Angie jump. The next thing we knew, Sid was leaning forward, the jagged end of the bottle held against his own gut. The points of the bottle dug into Sid’s shirt. Patches of wet darkness spread around the jags, making it seem like maybe blood was flowing underneath the shirt.

“Angie, tell me something. If I decide to shove this glass in all the way to my spine, are you responsible for my death? Are you my murderer because you gave me the bottle? Or am I just a dumbass suicide?”

“Tony wasn’t no suicide! He was just a kid who didn’t know enough—”

Sid smiled in a grim way, still pressing the broken bottle into his gut. “Didn’t know enough what?”

Angie seemed to be choking on his words. “Didn’t—didn’t know enough to drive safe. Didn’t know enough not to speed at night. Didn’t know enough to realize how fucking much he could hurt everyone who loved him by dying like that.”

Angie started crying again. Sid dropped the piece of busted bottle on the couch and sat back again. Sid looked exhausted, and I felt just as sad for him as I did for Angie.

After a while, we all got to the point where we could look at each other and talk again. Angie spoke first.

“All right. Maybe I didn’t kill Tony. But Ann’s marriage—”

Sid practically exploded. “Jesus! You are one hard-headed bastard! Do I have to ask you the same kinda questions all over again? Were you lying in bed between Ann and Vito when they fought? Were you there when she blamed him for not being a good father, or when he blamed her for wiping Tony’s ass one too many times? Were you there—”

“Okay, that’s enough! No, I wasn’t there for any of it! I don’t know what went down between them. Maybe things were bad even before Tony died. But still—”

“Still nothing! Whatever Ann and Vito had between them, whatever went wrong or stale, whatever caused your brother to take off, whatever made Ann let him go—well, it was private and personal. Nobody can understand that kind of shit from the outside. And you know what? I doubt they spent one lousy second thinking about you during their arguments, and your name probably never even came up. All this guilt—it’s just another form of pride. ‘I’m so important, I’m at the center of everything—especially the bad stuff.’ It’s destructive bullshit, Ange! Destructive to yourself and to everyone around you. If you ever want to get better, you gotta let it go.”

Angie sat still for a long time, then said, “You two better leave now. Just clear out.” His voice was level, but I wouldn’t call it friendly.

“Sure. No problem. C’mon, Kid, let’s hit the road.”

Sid grabbed a plastic webbing that still held two cans of beer. Seeing that, I snatched up a bag of chips. We left the apartment, went down the stairs and out the door. As we crossed the parking lot I asked, “Are we gonna hitch?”

Sid looked preoccupied, like maybe he wasn’t sure if he had done good or bad back there. “No. It’s a nice goddamn night, and the walking will do us good. It’s only about ten miles. Besides, with our luck, if we tried to hitch that stupid cop Vakharia would drive by and nail us.” Sid brightened up, clapping me on the back. “Besides, you want to stay in shape for whenever we hit the road again. Right, partner?”

“Right!”

We stayed on the same side of Route 1 we had earlier traveled, walking on the grassy margins of the highway, to face the oncoming traffic. Sid popped a beer and took a sip. I ate some chips.

I wondered if I’d be washing dishes again at breakfast, or out on my ass because Ann felt Sid and I had butted in where we didn’t belong. I tried to decide which possibility bothered me more, but couldn’t make up my mind.

The next morning I felt like crap. By the time Sid and I had made it back to Deer Park, it was just before midnight. By the time we fell asleep, it was way past. Back in the trailer, we had talked a little about any number of things, but not about Angie and his problems. Just general bullshit. Then I lay awake with the lights out, thinking about stuff for at least an hour in a screwed-up, half-awake way.

So when the wind-up alarm clock that Sue had given us went off at six I had to really drag myself out of bed. That long night’s walk on top of a full day’s work left me feeling as sore as the only nerd in a school full of jocks. Sid was already up, natch, doing his stupid exercises. I grunted, stumbled past him, grabbed some fresh clothes and my Skechers, and left the trailer. I was barefoot, no shirt, wearing just my jeans. The morning dew was cool on my soles as I crossed the lawn. And of course because I was half-naked I ran into Sue at the back door of the offices, on my way in for a shower.

Sue held an armful of clean rags, the kind I used in the kitchen. She must’ve been heading to the diner for breakfast. She wore a new pair of farmer pants, faded red this time, over a flowery Quiksilver shirt. She eyed my chest with an evil grin. I swore up a storm inside myself. How come I had no lousy goddamn hair on my fucking skinny chest yet? And how come a girl could give a guy the once-over and not get called on it, the way a guy eyeballing a girl would?

“Late night?” Sue said.

“Yeah.”

“Hope it was more fun than you and I would’ve had together.”

She took off then before I could come up with any kind of answer, looking back over her shoulder and grinning.

Shit!

I went inside and had my shower. Then, even though I didn’t really want to see Ann or Sue, the only thing to do was go have breakfast.

When I walked into the diner, three booths had customers and they were all in the middle of their meals, so Yasmine had nothing to do except hang out at the counter and tease Sonny. This was something I had noticed her doing before. Ann usually made Yasmine stop before things went too far, but Ann wasn’t around. She must’ve been in the back room, getting some supplies.

“So, Sonny,” Yasmine said in a syrupy voice, “where’s your own little Cher? C’mon, you can tell me. You must be keeping a babe on the side, especially with all the money you save by living with your
sister.
What’s she look like, huh? Is she built anything like me?” Yasmine leaned forward across the counter, offering a good view down her shirt. “C’mon, Sonny, turn around and have yourself a look.”

Sonny kept his back to Yasmine. He concentrated on scraping a grill that was already so polished that you could possibly see your reflection in it. His narrow shoulders hunched forward and inward, like he was trying to roll himself up into some even skinnier version of himself.

“I tuh—told you buh—before, Yasmine. I duh—don’t have a guh—girlfriend.”

“Oh, give me a break! A big strong hunky guy like you? You must have a whole string of ladies. Let me just feel those muscles.”

Yasmine reached over to touch Sonny’s right arm, the one holding the scraper. He jerked it away from her polished fingertips, and the scraper knocked into a shallow aluminum bowl that held melted butter and a basting brush. The bowl tipped over, sending butter spreading across the counter and onto the floor.

“Nuh—now luh—look what you muh—made me do!”

Sonny sounded like he was going to bust out crying. His eyes were all watery. I got kinda disgusted with everyone then. Sonny, Yasmine, Sue, Angie, even Ann. What a bunch of emotional basket-cases! About the only ones who seemed to have their shit together were me and Sid. What the hell were we doing chilling here? Maybe last night marked the beginning of the end of our stay at Deer Park. Maybe now Sid would want to get back on the road.

I dropped down onto a counter stool. Sonny was busy sponging up the spilled butter. The quick breakfast I had counted on looked like it was going to be delayed.

Yasmine wasn’t satisfied with the damage she had done. She kept on teasing the cook.

“Oh, you had a little accident! It’s hard for a guy not to spill things around me. I bet you dream about me at night, Sonny, don’t you? Do you spill anything then? Does your
sister
have to change your sheets a lot?”

Sonny swung around then, no warning, and smacked Yasmine in the face with his hand holding the big blue sponge.

“Duh—don’t tuh—talk about my suh—sister!”

Yasmine reeled back. She looked more surprised than hurt. A big smear of dirty liquid butter glopped up one side of her face. I didn’t know whether to laugh or not. All the customers who had been eavesdropping looked as shocked as Yasmine.

Ann came out of the back room. She sized up the situation in about half a second.

“What’s going on here? Yasmine, have you been teasing Sonny again? Get over to the apartment and clean yourself up! Then get right back here.”

I expected Yasmine to pitch some kind of hissy fit, maybe even quit and stalk out. She could be that bitchy, no question. But the blow that Sonny had given her seemed to have thrown her into some kinda funk. I figured maybe things had never reached this point before. Whatever the reason, Yasmine got up all meek, grabbed her purse from underneath the counter, and left the diner.

The customers were still gawping. Ann turned to them. “Okay, show’s over, folks. Sorry for the ruckus. Your breakfasts are on the house today. Be sure to come back tomorrow, when all of this nonsense will be ancient history.”

Everyone returned to their meals. Ann went behind the counter and confronted Sonny. His face was still flushed, but he didn’t look angry anymore. More like ashamed and afraid, like a dog that’s taken too many kicks.

“Sonny, I know Yasmine’s kinda hard to take sometimes. But if you make it easy for her push your buttons, she’ll never stop. Next time, just ignore her, okay?”

“I wuh—was trying! But she suh—said something about Evelyn!”

“Evelyn’s a big girl, she can take care of herself. You just concentrate on managing Sonny.”

Sonny hung his head. “Okay, Ann.”

Ann clapped the cook on the shoulder. Then she spotted me and smiled.

“Looks like we got a hungry employee here, Sonny. What’re you gonna have, Kid?”

It seemed like Ann hadn’t heard anything from Angie about me and Sid poking into her past. Or if she had, it didn’t matter. I felt relieved. “Uh, I’ll have a grilled cheese, please, with a side of home-fries.”

“Cuh—coming right up!”

Sue walked in before I even got my sandwich.

“What’s up with California Girl? She ran past me with a greasy face. Looked like maybe she was crying too. Did she put on the wrong kind of tanning butter?”

Ann and Sonny started laughing. Me too. Sue kept saying, “What? What? What’s so funny? Tell me!” But that only made us laugh all the harder. It took us a while to stop and fill Sue in. Then she started snorting, and we all got going again.

When Sid came in, the whole process started for the second time.

Finally we got ourselves under control. “Okay,” Ann said, “that’s the end of that. When Yasmine walks back in, I want everything normal. Or as close to normal as this zoo ever gets.”

Sid and I turned to our breakfasts, while Ann began to wait on new customers, with Sue helping. After about twenty more minutes, Yasmine returned. She had fixed her makeup and looked pretty much self-composed. Sonny was putting up several full plates, ready to go. Sue was reaching for them when Yasmine more or less pushed her aside.

“That’s my job, little girl. Sonny, who are these for?”

“Buh—booth eight.”

Yasmine took the meals over to booth eight, and the morning routine at the Deer Park Diner was restored. Sid went to paint some more, and Sue took off the clean the cabins. I got up off my stool and went back to my sinks and dishwasher.

Before I knew it, it was lunchtime. Not quite yet for me, since I couldn’t quit until three. But I expected Sid to show up soon.

Sid came in the back door. He smelled like turpentine, and his hands were a little raw from scrubbing the paint off. It was just him and me in the back, so I said, “What now? Are you bringing Angie his lunch like regular?”