I:VIII

My room had two guitars. One was an acoustic that I played often. The other was electric, really showy, and very expensive. I will not disclose the brand of the guitar, or the model, or shape because I don’t want to mislead you, the reader. However I will tell you this about the electric guitar: I had done a lot to it. I had put locks on it, I ordered it with a custom paint job, I installed specific pickups, and the inlays were custom. I ordered this guitar around my soul. As I walked into my room and saw it sitting in the stand next to the window I asked myself for the first time, “What the hell was I planning to do with this thing?” I had purchased it and completed customizing it around eight months ago and I’ve never played the thing. “As a matter a fact,” I thought to myself, “Why the fuck didn’t I buy an amp?” It wasn’t that I was out of money, I just never bought one. I didn’t put it off, it’s not like the one I wanted was out of stock; I just never bought an amp. I didn’t even think about an amp when I was finally holding the guitar and not looking at pictures of it on the internet. “I’m certainly not selling that guitar.” I convinced myself, but I didn’t know what the deal was with the guitar. In fact, I didn’t know why I started thinking about it at that moment.

That aside, Erick sat on my bed and looked though the CDs on the nightstand. I sat at my desk, opened the drawer, and pulled out a rather large bag of marijuana. Erick put a CD in the stereo. I began twisting joints. Erick turned the stereo up. After about twelve minutes of The Black Dahlia Murder’s Miasma- an album I didn’t particularly care for- I had rolled eight joints. I stood up walked over to the door and signaled Erick to turn the music off. He did, then I waved him over to where I was standing. I put the joints in a baggie and put them in my pants pocket. All of the joints were fat so I was very aware of them in my pocket, well, that and the ridiculous odor. As we stepped into the hallway, my brother was coming down the opposite end.

I said, “Hey, Peter, Peter pumpkin eater.”

“Hey, guy. What’s up Erick?” He walked to us. Erick nodded his head and shook Peter’s hand. “What are you guys doing?”

“We were just headed up to the roof. Gonna blaze; you wanna come?” I leaned forward and grinned like I was trying to sell him a car.

He laughed, “Maybe some other time.” He didn’t smoke pot. “Look I’ve got to work tonight so I’m gonna go hit the sack. Are you guys going out tonight?”

I looked at Erick then said, “Yeah, most likely.”

“You want some scratch in case you fools get hungry?” He began to pull out his wallet. “Or gas, or something?”

“Nah, we’re set. Right Erick?” Erick took a big whiff of the air and gave Peter a thumbs up.

We laughed. Peter put his wallet away and said, “Alright. Don’t fall off the roof.” He turned to his right and closed the door to his office.

Erick and I continued down the hall until we were almost in the kitchen. To the left was the staircase, up we went, down the hall of the upper story, I pulled the string to the attic access, a built in ladder came down, up we went, across the wood floor of the attic to a glass door, and out to the small balcony. I drew the curtain to the glass door and shut the door. I lit one of the joints.

The view from the third floor of my house was not what most people would consider amazing, but to Erick and I it was perfect. Rows forever of almond orchard that eventually came to a halt of dirt, and lead beyond the eye ultimately to the high rolling dead-brown of the foothills. When the sun was in the right place during the evening, you could catch blinding twinkles from the windmill blades. The almond sea changed moods over the year. In the spring and summer the leaves were huge and bright green, in the fall the trees blossomed and one could mistake the land for the North Pole. In the fall the petals from the flowers took to the breeze with no flight plan. It was always an amazing sight but, alas, the shortest of the orchard phases. After the leaves and petals fell, one could smell the death rising from the earth. It smelled like a massive fire, only the flames were still, and once, they were alive. Now the trees looked old, naked, angry. The orchard looked like a place for things to die.

We stood out on the balcony for a while. I was pretty stoned. “Beautiful, huh?” I said after a while.

Erick replied, “A violent torrent of malignant turmoil.” Then there was silence.

Sometime later, the sun was setting and the time had come to set out. The house was still and dark. We exited the front door and staring forward through the rows of trees didn’t count for much. It looked as if the shadows were coming to engulf my house. We got in the car and Erick put on a CD. The tangled roads in these orchards could probably cause someone unfamiliar with them to be lost for weeks. At least that’s how it seemed to me. Sometimes I wondered how I even remembered where to turn.

The main street in our town was four lanes across. Over time it just became known as the Boulevard. It was Mortem’s aorta. On it was the better of what little commercial district there was. It was the place to cruise, there was a theatre, gas, and a couple of franchise burger barns. Also there was a bus station; the only way in and out if you didn’t have a car. We pulled in and parked with the back of the car to the Boulevard. A few spaces away was the driveway leading to a two lane road; to the one way out of here, as street called “Memorial Road”. The sky was brilliant yellows, reds, and oranges and everything was in shadow.

The music was off and now we just sat in the car. This was a mission? Erick adjusted his seat to get comfortable. I did the same as I pulled a bag out of my pocket.

We were very stoned a few hours later. Buses had come and gone. No one got on and no one got off. I was still unclear on what Erick and I were doing here. Not much had been said since our first joint. By this time we had probably burned four or five. “Erick,” I said, “Let’s hear a story.” He nodded and took a moment to collect his thoughts.

“It was an infernal contraption with malice intent to retrieve the burden of still water. In final product, the distilled incessant virtues of camaraderie, between the three parties, were invaluable; the third being the Heron. ‘O’ heron’ it would pulsate a magnificent screeching, ‘Enlighten the entities of my bureaucracy without proverbial force.’ But only a binary response rang through the seas…” He carried on; I listened intently.

The last bus until tomorrow was pulling into the station. The “mission” was absolutely fruitless. I started the engine. As I reached to put it in to reverse Erick hit me to grab my attention. I looked at him and he was staring forward. I looked to the bus and saw three people getting off the bus, all wearing dark black clothing. I was about to say something when out of nowhere, a black cat darted across my hood. It moved unbelievably fast but it caught both Erick’s and my attention. As we followed it with our heads to Memorial, a large black pickup truck sped past the station and fishtailed into the intersection on the Boulevard. The truck barreled behind us down the Boulevard. I looked at Erick. He was shocked.

I:VII

My house was far. Well, it was far in relation to school, my friends, and it was just the complete opposite- in terms of direction and distance- of Castlevek… close to Erick though. My house was far out in the orchards, off in a labyrinth of two lane roads that were primarily used for machinery. Night time outside my house was blindness. It was so dark outside my house. I mean dark. I’m not sure you understand how dark it was; it was like closing your eyes, duct taping your eyelids down, wrapping your face in black construction paper, burying your head in the dirt, and parking a car over it. Flashlights, which we needed to find the steps and our cars, cut the blackness with limited range. Getting back on topic, it was daytime now, probably getting close to noon anyway, and Erick and me were getting close to my house. Erick didn’t have to check in with his folks for a few reasons. One: they liked me. His parents only know me as a collected respectful responsible young man. Two: Erick didn’t have many friends to their knowledge. To his parents this meant that he was not to be easily swayed by the masses to take part in any illegal activities or anything that may cause harm to Erick. Three: I’ve had my car for two years… let’s just call it a routine. They probably figure that Erick has to come home to take a shower eventually.

Erick’s home life was stable. It had been that way since his mom left with his little brother and sister. She had given Erick the option of leaving to parts unknown, chasing men, and check to check income with the three of them, or he could stay with his grandparents who make a fair and honest living and love Erick as if they had given birth to him. I’m really glad he stayed. No gains and no losses. The only question I had about his home life: the whole family speaks Spanish when talking to one another, did Erick speak the same way in Spanish that he did in English? I may never know the answer to that question. My classes only covered basic Spanish. So if I ever need a glass of water when I’m at Erick’s house, I can handle my own.

My home life was not so easy to sum up. It had been four years since anything. Since our last family outing, family picture, since my sister moved out, since my older brother dropped out of college, since my father died, since my little brother died, since my mother had spoken a word to me or anyone.

I have never been mad at my mother for one moment in my life. Once when I was young something happened, a death of someone close to my mother. I wanted to cheer her up and stop her form crying but my dad stopped me. He picked me up and took me outside and sat me on the porch. He explained to me that my mother’s life was hell. When she was a young girl, she and her brother watched her father strike their mother in the back of the head with the claw end of a hammer, killing her, for trying to leave an abusive relationship. He took them and gave them to a very bad person, a friend of their father’s, before he died in a violent gun battle with the police. The bad man they were left with did horrible things to them and eventually turned them out as drug dealers in a big city, I can’t remember which. She and her brother stuck together for as long as they could. When they were escaping her brother told her that she was worth his life and that would be the cost for her to get away. She was seventeen when she watched her brother kill a dozen men before being shot in the head. The man who had shot him found her hiding on the massacre site. He knew her situation, all of it. For a reason unknown to any but himself, he looked at my mother for a long time and took his own life. She escaped to California where she met my father. The two married and moved to Mortem. This is where is becomes my story.

My mother gave birth to my brother Peter, my sister Louise, Me, and my little brother Carmichael all by the same father. Four years ago Peter was a sophomore off at Arizona State and Louise was still home with me and Carmichael. My mother was, for the first time in her life, safe, secure, and happy. Every day for my mother was the first of a new life with her four children and her very special husband. One day at the bank in Lancaster, My mother was waiting in line, for a long time, with my father and Carmichael. Louise and I had stayed home. They had been waiting for so long that my father had to go outside and put more money in the parking meter. He stepped outside and not two minutes later did a drunken man with an automatic weapon step in to make a withdrawal. Some hero jumped on the man’s back. As the man with the gun flailed around wildly spraying bullets in every direction, he killed seven people, and as my mother clung to Carmichael to keep him safe a bullet went straight through my mother’s bicep into my little brother’s chest, killing him. My father, across the street, the commotion and came running to the bank, but just before he could step on the curb in front to the bank the drunken man’s getaway mobile struck him and pinned him between the “getaway” and an innocently parked car.

At the hospital, my mother lost all faith. She lost all religion, patriotism, hope, and became a shell. To me it was all so fictitiously bizarre, but the evidence was irrefutable.

At the funeral my brother and father were buried side by side. My brother pulled me aside and tough tears told me was leaving school to move back with us. The next day my sister made the opposite decision she packed her things and left home. She said she would be back. No one stopped her. Now it was just my mother, my brother, and me in this big empty house.

Yeah, that’s the sob story. I figure that will better explain my mother and brother to you, the reader. Erick and I pulled up the house. I parked next to my mother’s ’08 Gran Cherokee. My brother had bought it for her birthday, his 0-something Tacoma was gone. He worked a lot. Erick and I climbed the steps. I pushed open the front door and felt the outward rush of air. As if the oxygen inside was anxious to leave the vacuum sealed packaging of my house. As usual, the air in the front room as stale. All of the lights were off. No one had been in the living room for a long time. Erick and I crept past the living room to the kitchen. My mother sat at the table smoking a cigarette; reading the paper. She was motionless.

Her face was finely sculpted. She was an aging woman, with lines now cutting into her smooth dark skin at the corners of her mouth, ends of her nose and under her tired brown eyes. She was in her waitressing outfit. She was of average height, but maybe a little thin for a woman her age.

“Hey mom,” I said shattering the silence, “Erick is here.” Erick smiled and waved to her despite the fact that she didn’t move to look up at us. “I was out with him all night.” Nothing. We began to leave. Erick went down the hall to my room. Before I was completely out of the room, I stopped and turned to my mother, peaking my head in just enough to see the back of my mother as she continued reading. I said, “Hey mom?” she said nothing, “You’re beautiful.” She chuckled lightly; a sweet sound I hadn’t heard in years. I also noticed her mouth move in the corner. I left to my room.

I:VI

An hour or so later we were all piled into a booth at a familiar diner. The diner was called Toni’s, but the man who owned it was named Richard. I’d met the man, nice guy, I asked him about the name and he told me that he’d ordered the letters to spell out “John’s” but he somehow got stuck with “Toni’s”. Wait… what the hell? Anyway, the restaurant came with the town. It was classic. Ever item in the diner was like a relic from WWII. We hung out there a lot.

We sat in the circular booth and ate our breakfasts, eventually, Jessica broke the silence that eating brings, “So what’s going on today? I have work.”

Vince replied, “I have to be at work in three hours.” He turned to Rick, “How are you getting home? You need a lift?”

Rick swallowed his mouthful and replied, “Nah, I can walk. I’m going to see if my brother will let me borrow his truck tonight.”

“Borrow his truck?” Vince was surprised. Not only did Vince drive Rick everywhere, he liked it. Rick was like Vince’s little brother. Well, at least in Vince’s eyes, no one knew for sure if Rick felt like the little brother.

“Yeah, Malissa and I were gonna go out to Lancaster and check out that fair we heard about.”

Alexandra interjected, “What fair?”

“Well it’s like a mini fair for Lancaster. It looked kind cool. I figured everyone was gonna be busy today and I was gonna go by myself until Malissa asked me if I wanted to go.”

“Well, is it like, private or like, can I come, too?” You could tell by looking at Alexandra that she really wanted to go with them, like a little kid.

Rick said to her, “Sure the more the merrier.” Malissa and Alexandra giggled to each other. Rick turned to Kumar, “You wanna come too, buddy?”

“No, I can’t,” he said disappointedly, “I’m taking Rashinda to some studio a little ways up North. We won’t be back until later this evening.”

Vince came back into the discussion, “So who isn’t busy today?” he laughed. Erick, Alex and I raised our hands. Vince said “No, no, no,” with a slight chuckle, “You two can out your hands down. You’re on a mission.” Erick and I slowly dropped our hands.

Alex said, “Dang, so I can go with any one of you guys today, huh?” We all nodded our heads, “Wow, I feel so special.” We laughed.

I wiped my mouth and put my napkin on my plate. I pulled out my wallet and left $20 on the table, “Well, you let that sit, Alex, and I gonna go smoke.” Erick scooted out of the booth allowing me to scoot out. We proceeded to the back entrance toward the cars.

When we stepped outside the sun reminded us how not fully sober we were. We walked over to my ’94 Lincoln Town Car. I know it’s not the car every teenager dreams of, but I liked it; very functional car. We leaned against the front of the hood with our backs to the sun. We looked at the bubble gum speckled cement and the rough white back wall of the diner. I offered Erick a cigarette but he already had one, so I lit it up for myself. We stood quiet for a moment, then I said to him, “We have to go by my house and check in with my mom.” Erick nodded and took another drag. I turned back to the pavement. We stood quiet again. I turned to him, “We’ll probably smoke a joint before we set out on this ‘mission’, or whatever. I got some reefer at the house.” Again, Erick stood still, nodding his head smoking his cigarette. We stood quiet again, this time longer than the last two. I turned and said, “I’m in love with Rashinda.” Erick’s eyes opened wide and his jaw dropped while he turned to me.

Just then the back door opened and the rest of the group poured out, the ones that smoked lighting cigarettes. They walked by us giving props and handshakes while they dispersed to their cars. Rick, Malissa, Alexandra, and Alex were walking down the street toward Rick’s house. Vince’s blue Jimmy pulled away, as did Jessica’s oddly colored Civic. Kumar’s Subaru Impreza station wagon stayed however. I looked and saw him in the driver’s seat with the engine running, but Rashinda wasn’t inside. I turned to face forward and she was standing in front of me. I jumped. She stood there looking up at me, but my reaction caused her to jump. We laughed, then she said, “Call me when you’re heading to Castlevek.” I nodded and she walked away. As the Impreza-wagon pulled away I turned to Erick who was still wide eyed and mouth agape…