Spacecraft Page 3

uh. Russia.”

  “Oh yeah? Which one?”

  “Him.” Steve said, pointing at me over the chips. I froze.

  “Well, come over here son, I’m not gonna stab you.”

  I walked up to the counter, thinking he probably was going to stab me, otherwise why would he have mentioned it?

  “What’s your name?” He asked.

  “Nick.”

  “Are you afraid of the boogeyman?”

  “Um… No.”

  “Well you SHOULD BE goddamn it!” I flinched and Steve laughed. The guy continued. “Trillions of dollars are depending on you being scared shitless of the communist boogeyman. Nobody gets rich if you aren’t scared son. Didn’t your momma ever tell you to eat your vegetables or the boogeyman’d getcha?”

  I tried to process what he was saying. “Wow, um. I don’t think…”

  “HEY!” He said suddenly, snapping his fingers twice in front of my face. “Stay with me here. The trillions of dollars we shovel into the gaping maw o’ the military industrial complex and all the secret programs and spy satellites and shit -that’s the nasty brussel sprouts you have to eat. Why? Because you’re afraid of the boogeyman. Never mind that he ain’t real. Hell, if it wasn’t commies they’d have to invent something else for people to be scared of. If the people ain’t scared, the whole backbone of the economy falls to shit and nobody gets rich. Don’t be one of the stupid people Nick. The whole show is crooked from top to bottom, ya understand?”

  “…Yeah, got it.” I said. There were a couple more pings as a girl with high hair and her boyfriend came in. “Thanks.” I added, backing away from the counter. Steve shook the guy’s hand and followed me over to the video game machine where Colin was absorbed in a pixilated space battle. He must’ve been on a high level because everything was moving very fast. Little insect-like aliens were dropping bombs and Colin rocked his whole body from side to side as he slammed the joystick back and forth to dodge them. There were only a few aliens left, but they were moving fast and eventually his little ship was pinned in the corner and destroyed.

  “SHIT!” He yelled.

  “Hey, watch your language over there.” The guy behind the counter called out. “This is a family establishment.”

  “Sorry.” Steve said. We left the store.

  I noticed a payphone on the corner and told Steve and Colin to go back without me because I had to call my Gram and tell her I wouldn’t be home for dinner. I was tripping, but I wasn’t worried about talking to her. I could probably talk to her on angel dust and she wouldn’t notice. As I walked to the payphone on the other side of the parking lot I practiced the lie in my head: I’m at Colin’s. we’re watching a movie on TV, I won’t make it home in time for dinner. I dialed the number and heard her feeble greeting on the other end.

  “Hi Gram, it’s Nick…”

  “Nicky, where have you been all day?” She asked. This was a bad question -she knew I hadn’t been at school.

  “I’m at Colin’s place Gram, we’re watching a movie on TV.” I said.

  “I got a phone call from your school today Nicky, they say you’ve been absent for over a month! What in god’s name have you been doing all this time?”

  “Um… It’s probably just a mistake Gram. Don’t worry about it.” I said.

  “That’s a lie Nicky!” She said. “You can’t lie your way out of this. I’ve had enough of your manipulations. Come home right now. We need to have a serious talk.”

  “Uh… Sorry Gram. I’ll be home in a few hours.” I said. “That’s the best I can do.” She was saying something else but I hung up the phone.

  2

  The vibration of my wheels on the pavement transferred through the soles of my feet, up my ankles to my shins. It felt unusually rough as I picked up speed skating down the hill on Stott Street. I took my anger out on my rear wheels, kicking them out with my back foot repeatedly, which slowed me down and made a satisfying little screech. The acid left in my system made the streetlights look like they were giving off a yellow haze in the darkness. I tried to say I was sorry, but she wouldn’t let up. Finally I couldn’t take it anymore so it was fuck you and I slammed the door behind me. My stomach was twisted in frustration and hunger.

  Consequences she kept saying there had to be consequences. I told her I’d go to church and pray with her for god’s help, but it didn’t work this time. It worked for the porn, it worked for the Olde English, but it wasn’t going to work this time. Just, good, but it still doesn’t solve this problem, and more crying. So I was stuck going to church the next morning and I still had to face her consequences.

  I’d thought I could make it until the end of the school year. Just lay low for another month or so and make up some excuse for not graduating. I’d tell her I couldn’t pass algebra or something. I’d intercepted all the letters that came from the school, but I hadn’t expected them to call. I thought they’d throw a party when I stopped going. I knew the situation could explode like this, but the timing felt particularly cruel. Nice day at the beach, tripping with friends, and BOOM: reality. Time to deal with your fucked up life.

  I tried an ollie but my foot slipped off the back of the board and I stumbled. I picked it up and sat on a cement wall that borders an inclined row of bushes on that side of the avenue. I sat with my back to the cars going by and lit a cigarette. No one ever walks around there, it’s car territory.

  The fight with Gram had left me drained. I thought about leaving her sad little apartment for good and getting my own place somewhere. I could pass for twenty if I put on my Good Shirt. The problem was that I had a vague sense that having a job was even worse than school, so I needed to fix the situation somehow. In the meantime I needed a place to crash.

  I went down the list of people I knew who might put me up for a night. Colin was probably in his room playing Nintendo or getting ready to sleep. His mom wouldn’t even open the door for me. I knew Steve would put me up, but I’d had enough of Steve for one day. Besides them, my options were nil. I still owed Maurice some money for weed, and my other acquaintances in the neighborhood had uptight parents.

  I don’t want a grandson who’s a drunk with no future she’d said. Drunk. Future. Maybe it wasn’t a bad idea, I could try to stay drunk for the rest of my life and see what happened. At least then it would be settled -I was a hopeless drunk. That would be me. I considered seeing if I could get someone to buy me beer at the liquor store, but I decided to skip it.

  If you’re in South Pasadena after dark and you don’t have a car and you can’t go home or to a friend’s house, you’ll probably end up at the strip-lot. The strip-lot is a hidden hangout spot in a kind of no-mans-land across the LA river from the 110 freeway. There’s a beat up old couch and a cinderblock wall that’s covered in graffiti and you can make a lot of noise there without bothering anybody. In the strip-lot you can’t be seen from any roads or sidewalks, so it served a useful purpose. If the cops knew about the spot they didn’t care.

  I went through the small park, avoiding all the dog-shit landmines, and around some bushes to get to the access road. There were two posts with a chain hanging between them signifying that you weren’t allowed past, I stepped over the chain and headed down the road which was so overgrown that you had to walk along the outer edge. It’s dangerous in the daytime because you can be seen from the freeway and a cop might think you were trying to get into the LA river for some reason. They call it the LA ‘river’ but it’s really just a cement drainage ditch with a trickle of piss and air conditioner coolant running down the middle.

  As I walked along the road I became aware of voices and movement up ahead. There’s usually some teenage wasteland hanging out at the strip-lot, but I was in the mood to be alone and I’d hoped no one would be around.

  I realized that the voices were coming toward me and they sounded distinctly girlish. Ducking down, I headed into the brush, pushing my way through with my skate. I got as far as I could and crouched behind a thick patch
of weeds. There was a branch sticking into my ribs and I had to put one hand on the ground for support. It was an awkward position, but I felt hidden.

  I couldn’t see them but I could hear them as they walked past. It sounded like two girls and I caught part of their conversation. One of them was saying that something had come out of nowhere.

  “Really,” the other one said, “as if it wasn’t sick enough that he has that mustache. Who the fuck does he think he is?”

  “Who cares?” The first one said. “They’re just a couple of FUCKING FAGGOTS!” She yelled this back so whoever was at the end of the road could hear. There was a response but I couldn’t make it out. The girls laughed and kept going. When I was sure they were gone I stood up and made my way back to the outer edge of the road, pulling some stray twigs out of my hair.

  The strip-lot is a sketchy place, but I’d been there a hundred times and I thought I knew everyone who hung out there. Besides it was South Pasadena, home of yuppies and those who aspire to be yuppies, not exactly a rough neighborhood.

  It was dark except for some light filtering through the trees from the freeway behind me. I recognized Martin right away, but the other guy I didn’t know. He was a little bigger than Martin and he was adding to the graffiti on the wall with a can of gold spray paint.

  “Hey, you guys working on an art