Part 23 (1/2)

”All right, stay cool.” As we started to turn away, he said, ”Hey, Crank. Can I b.u.m a couple dollars? Old times' sake?”

”Sure.” I pa.s.sed him a couple dollars, and we headed into the station.

Julia waited until we were at the platform before she asked, ”What was that all about?”

I frowned. I didn't like talking about it. ”Ewa ... she was one of the Pit rats. Hawaiian girl, used to hang out with the crew. Bunch of guys pretending to be Crips moved in last fall, they were trying to get the rats to rob people. She refused, so they killed her and dumped her in the river.”

She winced. ”I'm sorry,” she said, her voice low. She wrapped a hand around my arm and leaned slightly against me.

I stared at the floor. ”I didn't know her that well,” I said. ”Lenny's right, to an extent. I don't hang out anymore, I've moved on in a lot of ways. I don't know exactly when it happened, but I've left that life behind.” It was true. For years, I'd been aimless. Running with the guys in the Pit, hanging out drinking in cemeteries, getting drunk and getting laid. But something had changed. At least, since we'd formed Morbid Obesity, I'd felt like I had direction in life. At least enough direction that I got a job, started paying rent, started thinking about more than just this week. I didn't want to screw around. I wanted to drive Morbid Obesity to success. We weren't just going to be a band who screwed around for a couple years, then broke up and moved on with our lives. I could feel it. I could taste it.

The train roared into the station, buffeting us with ice-cold air, so we stopped talking. The doors opened, and we boarded, taking a seat together in the back of the train.

”Isn't that a good thing?” she asked.

”What's that?” I asked, my mind still on the odd changes in my life over the last couple of years.

”Moving on. To new things.”

I raised an eyebrow. ”What, have I become a self-improvement project for you?”

”What does that mean?” Her head was tilted, her expression puzzled.

”Does it bother you that I'm a high school dropout in a rock band?”

A slightly amused look came over her face, her lips just barely rising at the corner. ”No,” she said. ”It doesn't bother me.”

The train jerked forward slightly, then started rolling, accelerating quickly.

”Shouldn't it?” I asked. ”Is there any hope for a future between a pit rat and a Harvard girl?”

She leaned against me. ”I'm not ready to think about the future yet. Please, don't ask me to do that. Let's enjoy now, okay?”

Okay. Time to change the subject. I turned and whispered in her ear, ”I can think of a lot of ways to make now more fun.”

She whispered back, ”We're not alone in this car.”

I lightly bit her earlobe, and she closed her eyes, leaning closer to me, and so I let my left hand drift, sliding down the fabric of her dungarees to her inner thigh. She turned her lips to mine, and I nibbled on her lower lip as my hand pressed against her. She moaned, softly.

”Quiet,” I whispered. ”You don't want to disturb the commuters.”

Luckily, we were the only people at this end of the train, because she s.h.i.+fted in her seat, moving into my lap, straddling me, pressing hard against my groin. Her hands rested on my shoulders as she returned the long, slow kiss. My hands s.h.i.+fted to her waist, pulling her closer to me, as close as we could possibly get fully clothed in winter jackets. I slid my hands around, caressing her b.u.t.t, and she dropped her mouth to my neck, kissing it, and then biting.

I wanted to yell. I wanted to tear her clothes off right then and there.

She whispered, ”What did your friend call me? A barney? What's that?”

I groaned. I didn't really want to talk. But I responded, ”A barney, um ... you know ... Harvard Yard ... barn ...”

”That doesn't make any sense,” she whispered.

”Why should anything make sense?” I asked.

Let's do it (Julia) When we arrived, Jack said, ”I got something to talk to you guys about. You can come along, Julia, if you want.” He seemed so grave that I went along, worried about how the two brothers would react to whatever his news was.

”Sean!” Jack called. ”Can you come in the kitchen?”

Moments later, I heard Sean coming down the stairs, his sneakers thumping loud on each step. He came in the kitchen and said, ”Yes, Dad?”

”Have a seat, kid.”

Sean sat down.

When Jack spoke next, his words fell on Sean and Crank like a bomb going off.

”My National Guard unit's been activated for deployment to Kuwait.”

Crank gaped at his father, and Sean folded his arms across his chest as if to protect it, and immediately started rocking back and forth in his seat.

”I didn't think it was going to happen, but we got the orders last night. They're saying we'll probably be gone for at least a year.”

Sean didn't say anything. Crank said, ”A year? Can they do that?”

”Yeah, they can do it, Dougal. There's nothing I can do but salute and follow orders.”

I stared at Jack aghast. I was trying to imagine what the impact was on this family that I'd somehow gotten intertwined with. Who would take care of Sean? He was seventeen but had the emotional maturity of someone much younger. He wasn't ready to be on his own.

Crank shook his head. ”I can't frickin' believe it. We're really going to war over there.”

”I've been telling you that, kid.”

”Who's going to watch out for Sean?”

As soon as Crank said the words, Sean stood up and blurted out, ”I will not go to Grandfather's house again. You can't make me.” And he walked out of the kitchen.

Jack sighed. ”I was afraid of that.”

”Can you blame him?” Crank asked. ”Grandpa treated him like c.r.a.p when you got called up last year.”

”What happened last year?” I asked, putting a hand on Crank's shoulder. Sean had told me a little. I remembered him saying, I hate them.

”My dad doesn't get Asperger's,” Jack said. ”He seems to think a shout and a swift kick in the a.s.s is all it will take to get Sean to be normal. And when I got called up after September 11, Sean stayed with him for four weeks. It didn't go well.”

Crank spoke, his tone low and almost broken, ”It was a disaster.”

”I'm gonna talk with your moth-”

Jack stopped, and they both jerked in their seats at the sound of a loud crash from the living room. All three of us jumped up to our feet and ran into the living room.

Sean had pulled the six-foot high bookcase down, books and pictures and knickknacks scattered across the floor. He stood next to it with his arms flexed, his hands b.a.l.l.s into fists and his face tense, brow drawn down in rage. ”I won't go to Grandpa's! I won't! He hates me!”