Pork Page 2

  After he finished the last of his sandwich, he spent a few more minutes on the bench before heading back to his classroom.

  ***

  After school, Steven went home and found his momma still sleeping on the couch. A small bottle of pills lay on its side on the floor, its contents spilled next to half a bottle of vodka. He figured she’d be in a bad mood, hungover and dehydrated, when she woke up. She usually was when she’d consumed the stuff on the floor. He crept to the kitchen, opened the fridge to retrieve a bottle of water he had chilled last night, and left it on the floor next to the vodka.

  Back in the kitchen, he washed the piling dishes, and prepared peanut butter sandwiches and chicken sandwiches—double the quantity he had made yesterday. Mango juice was a treat in the Walthurst household, and Steven was not allowed to have it without his momma’s permission. But today was a special occasion that called for a treat. So he got it out of the fridge and poured it into two bottles—one for him and the other for her. Something told him the little girl would be waiting for him by the time he got to the tree house.

  He loaded up the two bottles of juice and the food containers into his bulging backpack and tiptoed to the hall. He tidied up the room as quietly as possible, emptied the overflowing ashtray, and separated his momma’s dirty clothes from the clean ones. Since they had no washing machines, he’d hand wash them later along with his own. The clean ones he either folded or hung in a cupboard in the hall. His momma was snoring, but it sounded as if she was whistling through her nose. He chuckled, closed the door behind him, and began his walk to the tree house.

  Steven’s heart skipped a beat when he realized how much he wanted to see the little girl again. The last time he had felt this excited was when he found the tree house three years ago. He had a home, but this little girl could be his first real friend. There was something innocent and kind in her calm blue eyes, despite the unfortunate way he had found her. If she came today, he’d take her up into the tree house and let her rest there while he did his homework. Even if she couldn’t talk, he’d feed the scrawny girl and keep her around for company.

  He ran the final few steps to the tree house and leapt across the decaying footbridge, the contents of his backpack knocking around. He reached the clearing and his eyes scanned the creek for the girl. Finding no one, he turned toward the tree house. She could be sitting on the protruding root he had sat on yesterday. But she wasn’t there either. Feeling a bit disappointed, he lugged his heavy backpack up the ladder and rested on the balcony for a minute, his feet dangling between wooden posts. The cherry blossoms cast a dreamy vision against the clear blue skies. Soon the flowers would turn into fruits and he could harvest them.

  Half an hour later, when he was sure the girl wasn’t coming, he dragged his bag inside to finish his homework. He spread his math book and himself on the floor. It wasn’t his favorite subject, but once he grasped the theory, he could solve the problems quite easily. The final question was a toughie, so he rolled the butt of his pencil in his mouth to think it through. After mulling it over for ten minutes, he tossed the damp pencil on the floor and got up to take a sip of the mango juice.

  He opened his backpack and retrieved all the food containers, then lined them on the ledge, feeling a little disappointed by the girl’s absence. He flicked the bottle open and drank, sitting on the ledge by the window, watching sparrows chirp in the sun.

  There—in the clearing below. He saw the little girl, crouching on the ground, staring at his tree house. His eyes popped. How long has she been crouching like that?

  Juggling all the containers in his arms, he climbed down the ladder and placed the sandwiches in the spot where they had eaten yesterday. The girl ran toward him and plopped on the ground with her legs folded under her. She was dressed in the same clothes she was in yesterday, but dry and clean of mud.

  “Hi,” Steven said as she stared at his containers. “Hungry?” She opened her mouth and closed it back with a pucker. He thought he saw her nod, but he couldn’t be sure. She flicked open the juice bottle he handed her and drank from it, the plastic making sounds as it compressed under the pressure of her fingers. Steven was amused but went on to open the sandwich containers quietly. “Here, why don’t you have this?” He offered her a peanut butter sandwich.

  She finally lowered the bottle, wiped her mouth, and reached for it. It took her less than two minutes to finish the sandwich, belch, and put out a hand for another one. Steven had just bit into his first one. He handed her a chicken sandwich this time, and it didn’t take long for her to finish that one either. Steven preferred the chicken sandwich himself, but the girl didn’t seem to mind and ate whatever he handed her.

  “What’s your name?” he asked once they finished lunch. The girl puckered her lips playfully and tugged at her naked toes. “My name is Steee-ven,” he said. “Can you say that? Steee-ven,” he repeated, placing a hand on his chest. And then, pointing at her, he asked, “What’s your name?” The girl twirled her dark hair and squirmed. “It’s okay if you’re dumb, you know. You can still be my friend.” He gathered the containers, stacked them up, and said, “Come on, let me show you my tree house.”

  The girl’s face shone and she offered him a hint of smile as he rose and went up the ladder. She followed him up and squatted on the balcony, staring at the creek and the woods for a long time. Steven went in, deposited the containers in his backpack, and put away his math book. When he came looking for her, she was still staring at the woods as if in a trance.

  “What is it? Why are you staring at the woods?” The girl jumped when he spoke, her body trembling just a little. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you. Are you afraid of the woods too?” he asked. The girl didn’t reply. Instead, she got up and went inside. He watched the trees sway, dark and mysterious, until he had goose bumps all over. That’s strange, he thought. He was afraid of the woods, yes—but he’d never gotten goose bumps from looking at them before. He rubbed his arms, shook his head, and went inside.

  The girl was playing with his erasers and pencils, making dramatic sounds of trucks colliding and buildings exploding as his pencil case came to the rescue with the loud wails of a siren. She couldn’t be mute if she could make those noises, Steven surmised. But why won’t she talk to me then? Is it me? Steven sat down, pulled out a history book, and read it in another corner of the tree house, leaving her to amuse herself with his army of stationeries.

  When he looked up half an hour later, the battle had stopped. The casualties were strewn about all over the floor and the warmonger seemed deeply exhausted. She lay on the floor with her knees bent and was flicking her fingers quietly. Ten minutes later, she was asleep. Ten more minutes and he was asleep.

  At half past five, he woke up to find her crouching next to him, hands on her chin. She opened her mouth as if to say something but puckered her lips instead before running out and down the ladder. Steven went to the window as she disappeared for a moment, then showed up again at the clearing. She looked up at his window and waved before crossing the creek and disappearing once again into the thicket.

  ***

  Later, when Steven went home, he made sure it was late enough for his momma to have gone to work. It wasn’t easy to gauge what mood his momma would be in at any given time and he didn’t want to get in her way. It was safer if they didn’t cross paths. The vodka bottle and pills were gone, but the bottle of water he had left that morning stood empty on the table. He refilled the bottle from the tap and left it in the fridge before carrying the load of dirty laundry into the bathroom.

  He filled up buckets with water, added soap to one of them, and soaked the dirty clothes for a few minutes before squatting down and scrubbing them one by one with a brush. When he had finished scrubbing all the clothes, he rinsed them and hung them outside on the line. Steven listened to the water dripping from the clothes for a minute before heading back in to get some sleep.

  It took him a while to drift into slumber, but when his eyelids
finally came down, he was startled by a loud wailing in the hall. His eyes fluttered open and searched for the luminescent clock, his heart racing. It was two in the morning. He had been asleep for a while. He wondered if it was a thief and lay still, listening. The front door slammed and someone laughed. It sounded almost like a horse neighing. And then, the voice of a man, cooing.

  Steven got off the bed, crept to his bedroom door, and pressed his ear to the wood. He glanced at the baseball bat by the door as his heart slowed down. It was his momma, with a man. It had happened before, but not every day. Every now and then, when it was her day off at the diner, his momma would bring a man home and they’d laugh and moan until morning. The house usually smelled funny the next day and he hated that, but for the most part, he didn’t care about it enough to confront her.

  His heart rate slowed down enough for him to throw an old bathrobe over him and open the door just an inch to take a peep. She was lying on the couch and the man was on top of her. If he’s hurting her, why is she laughing like a horse? Steven pulled the door wider, careful not to let the dry hinges squeak, and tiptoed out. He hid in a shadow in the hall, holding the doorknob behind him.

  The man’s biceps were bulging and he had a tattoo of a cobra on his back. It looked almost alive, and Steven imagined it hissing as the man flexed his body in the dark. Steven’s momma squealed and held the man’s hair tight as he kissed her.

  “Shh…” she said. “My son’s in the next room.”

  The man ignored her plea and continued kissing her white breasts. And then, leaning back, the cobra man unzipped his jeans. Steven closed his eyes when the man pulled out an engorged penis. He tiptoed back to his room, went to his bed, and closed his eyes until morning.

  Chapter 3

  “Hey Stevie, we were just talking,” Butch said the following morning as Steven walked down the hallway of shame. It was no longer than a hundred yards, but the amount of humiliation Steven experienced every morning before he reached its end was immeasurable. Butch’s arm was draped across his best friend Tommy’s shoulders as he said, “Tommy here’s turning sixteen next month. Do you think your momma would be so kind as to pop his cherry? It’d be a nice little birthday present.” Steven usually would have dropped his head and walked on without a word, but today he bristled, and Butch saw it.

  “Ooooo! Easy, kid,” Butch said as the kids around him jeered, including Tommy. They were eager for Steven’s reaction as he looked up and saw them chewing gum and grinning. The girls were too close to the boys, their short skirts inching up their thighs as their legs rubbed against the boys’. Steven tried to think of something to say, but nothing came to mind, so he bunched up his fist and gritted his teeth, his lips pencil thin.

  “Come on, Stevie. Don’t listen to them, okay?” Sandy appeared from behind him and took Steven’s hand in hers, smiling. “We’re going to be late if we don’t get in now,” she said and he followed her into the classroom. Butch heckled them, but the others turned away when they realized there wouldn’t be a thrilling reaction from Steven.

  Steven had gotten to know Sandy Thompson when she moved from Billington to Halstead less than a year ago. An asthmatic redhead, Sandy wasn’t especially pretty or popular, but she had more friends than he could ever hope for. Her skin was pale and she had freckles sprinkled over her nose, and she wore a pair of glasses. Her long hair was parted in the middle and braided on most days.

  On her first day at Halstead High, she’d had trouble locating her inhaler. Both her parents were out of town, and her nanny was out running errands. She wouldn’t be available until school was over. Feeling alarmed, Sandy had sat on her chair during break and cried into her hands. Earlier, her inhaler had fallen off her desk and rolled to Steven’s feet at the back. Not wanting to disrupt the class, he had waited until lunch to return it to Sandy. She had taken it appreciatively and had since become the only girl he had ever spoken to in school.

  Just before Sandy took her seat at the front, she turned to Steven and asked, “Would you like to join me during lunch today?”

  This was new to Steven. Their relationship had never gone past a polite nod and smile since he’d known her. “It’s okay. I usually just have something light in the yard.”

  “Why don’t you join me at the cafeteria?”

  “It’s just too much trouble. The guys always say something nasty and I hate it.”

  Sandy listened to this and nodded. “Well, why don’t I join you in the yard, then?” she said with a smile. “Can I join you?”

  “Yeah, sure.” Steven walked to the back of the class and realized for the first time, he’d have someone to talk to during lunch.

  ***

  When the bell rang, Sandy followed him outside where the sun was shining bright and the spring breeze was blowing gently. They picked his usual spot and sat on the bench.

  “It’s my favorite season,” Sandy said, taking a deep breath.

  “Yeah? Why is that?”

  “The blossoms. I love how the earth becomes so colorful every time spring arrives.”

  “Funny,” he said.

  “Why?”

  “I like autumn because I love how the earth turns golden just before the last leaf falls.”

  Sandy opened her lunch box and munched on a sandwich just like Steven did. The only difference was that Sandy had chocolate milk and a banana to go with hers.

  “Can I ask you something?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Why do the other guys always talk about your mom like that?”

  Steven’s mind drifted to that Saturday night a year ago when the police charged into his momma’s house. He had hid behind his door, listening and watching everything in absolute terror. Pushing the thought away, he shrugged.

  “I don’t know. And I don’t care.”

  Sandy nodded thoughtfully and didn’t press further.

  ***

  When he went home that afternoon, his momma was awake, blowing clouds of smoke from her seat on the couch. Her blond hair was tousled and her nightie askew. There were no pills or vodka bottle on the floor, but her eyes were red and misty. She looked sober, and Steven’s heart rate picked up.

  “Do you want me to make you something to eat?”

  “No, thank you,” he said and headed straight to his bedroom. He hadn’t seen his momma cook in a long time. She didn’t exactly seem like she would be capable of cooking right now.

  “Aren’t you hungry?” she asked a little louder, her eyes following him.

  “I’ll make some sandwiches in a minute,” he said.

  “Sandwiches,” she repeated as if she had just tasted grit in her mouth. “Why do you always eat that shit? Why can’t you eat something else for once?” she yelled as he closed his bedroom door. He leaned on the door and let his backpack slide to the floor, sweat blooming on his skin. “Steven, get out here and listen to me when I’m talking to you. I’m your momma and I’m not done talking!” He took a deep breath, cracked the door open, and went out to face his momma’s mood. “Can I cook you something to eat?” she asked again, her tone surprisingly pleasant.

  Steven’s heart pounded and he knew he was treading on thin ice. Either way, something was going to happen, and all his fifteen years screamed it wouldn’t be good.

  “Yes,” he said with his eyes cast on a stain on the carpet. His hands were clasped in front of him like an obedient child’s and his palms were slick.

  His momma’s eyes shone with excitement for a brief second and she smothered the cigarette butt in the ashtray.

  “Good.” She rose and walked to the kitchen, passing him. “For goodness sake, look at me when you’re talking to me, will you? I won’t bite.” She let out a carefree laugh, which failed to alleviate Steven’s tension. He followed her to the kitchen and stood by the door. “Now, sit right here while I cook, okay? I won’t be long. And then we can eat together. I’m starving,” she said, pointing at a cheap plastic chair by the fridge. Steven would sometimes use it to reach th
e canned fruits his momma kept on the top shelf. She pushed the chair close to Steven with one foot and opened the fridge, saying, “Now, let’s see what we can have for dinner today.” She rummaged through the shelves and the freezer.

  “There are four eggs, half a bottle of mango juice, and half a chicken, frozen solid.” She laughed that wild laugh again. “There has to be more up here. Let’s see,” she said, closing the fridge and opening the overhead cabinet. “Fuck! Nothing?” Her voice rose. “Not a fucking thing except canned pineapple and peanut butter? What the…” She turned toward Steven and glared. “What the fuck did you do to all my groceries, Stevie? Did you sell them?” Her nostrils flared and he knew he was in trouble.

  “No. I didn’t.” Stevie’s voice quivered as he spoke and he braced himself for a blow.

  “Huh? Did you sell everything I bought like you did the last time, Stevie?”

  “I sold nothing from the kitchen. I swear,” he said, crossing his arms and raising them to cover his head. “I never did.”

  “You expect me to believe you worked at Bob’s to buy that guitar of yours?”

  “I did.” Steven cowered. “I really did.”

  “Liar!”

  When her hand came down on his face, it was like thunder, complete with the electric current that rattled through his bones. Steven cried and rose from the chair, tears streaming down his cheeks.

  “Please, momma. No!”

  “I bought a whole lot of vegetables, fish, fruit, milk, juice, and canned meat just last week. Where are they?” She held his collar. Her eyes were bulging, the crimson veins clearly visible.

  “I don’t know,” he said. His arms were still shielding his face.

  “Don’t you lie to me, Stevie! You come in every day and walk out with an armload of food in your little backpack. You think just ’cause I’m sleeping I don’t know what you’re doing?”

  “I only make sandwiches.”

  Another blow shook him and this time, he fell.