American Outlaw Part 5

"Well, I know a little bit about cars," I said, finally.

"Oh my G.o.d!" Rhonda squealed. "You know how to fix fix cars?" cars?"

"Sure," I said, delighted I'd stumbled on to something that this girl actually cared about. "I mean, it depends. But I can fix a lot of stuff."

"My mom's Chevy has been broken for three three weeks!" She s.h.i.+fted the books in her arms, displaying casually a little bit of her rockin' bod. "I don't suppose you would want to take a look at it for me?" weeks!" She s.h.i.+fted the books in her arms, displaying casually a little bit of her rockin' bod. "I don't suppose you would want to take a look at it for me?"

"s.h.i.+t," I said, "I'd love to. I mean . . . sorry. I didn't mean to say-"

"What?" Rhonda giggled. "Look, Jesse, if you fix my mom's car, then you can say 's.h.i.+t' all day and all night."

"That's not what I want," I said.

"Oh, really?"

"Yeah," I said. I looked at her. "If I fix your mom's car, then I want you to go out to the movies with me."

"Oh really? What movie?"

"I . . . really don't care," I said honestly. The whole school throbbed and moved around us in the halls. I ignored everyone. It was just me and her, locked in a gaze. And it felt like the best thing ever.

She stared at me for a really long time, then finally broke out into the most gorgeous smile I'd ever seen. "Yeah," she said. "That sounds good."

Please note: I fixed the living s.h.i.+t s.h.i.+t out of that car. out of that car.

Soon Rhonda and I were an item. Her perfect teenaged scent pervaded every aspect of my being. It was all roses and hair spray and cheerleader pom-poms and white cotton panties twisted up in a ball on the floor of my car.

Not to be outdone, my father embarked upon a romance of his own. Nina was a c.o.c.ktail waitress at a bar in Long Beach. She boasted stringy hair that hung down from her forehead, moplike.

"So pleased ta meet you," she sneered, the first time she came over to the house. The way Nina talked, it was like there was an invisible cigarette hanging from her bottom lip. I could almost see the b.u.t.t moving up and down. pleased ta meet you," she sneered, the first time she came over to the house. The way Nina talked, it was like there was an invisible cigarette hanging from her bottom lip. I could almost see the b.u.t.t moving up and down.

My dad was never one to beat around the bush, so before long, they'd gotten hitched, and I had a new stepmom. One day, she arrived at my house smacking gum like it was her job, her skinny, weather-beaten hands on her hips, and a household of possessions thrown haphazardly into a dented Ryder truck behind her. Two kids stood by her side, staring at me hostilely.

"Jesse," came my dad's voice, "unload the truck for Nina."

I knew this action would officially end my time alone with my dad, and the realization put me momentarily beyond words. Had anybody thought to ask me if three new people could move into my house? Would they really be allowed to invade the first taste of happiness that I'd been trying to cultivate for my whole life?

"Well?" Nina said. She jerked her chin. "You gonna do what your dad said?"

With no other choice, I put my head down and walked slowly toward the truck.

"Don't break break anything," Nina snapped. anything," Nina snapped.

Nina was a better homemaker than Joanna: she could actually cook a little bit. But she was not what you would call a stellar conversationalist.

"Hey," I said. "I think your kids stole some money out of my desk."

No response.

"Excuse me," I repeated. "Did you hear what I said? I had ten bucks in my desk. Now it's gone, and I think one of your kids stole stole it." it."

Nina looked at me, as if just discovering I was there. "My kids don't steal," she grunted, moving hair out of her face. She stirred the soup she was making for dinner, sucked on the oversized spoon. "Weren't raised that way."

"Yeah, well, look, I hate to tell you," I said, my voice rising, "some money is gone, and I sure as h.e.l.l didn't spend it. My dad didn't take it, and I guess that leaves you and your kids." I folded my arms and stared her down. "So what are we gonna do about it?"

Nina stirred, her concentration intense. She peered into the oven, attending to her ca.s.serole. The contents of the Pyrex captivated her attention entirely.

"Hey!" I said. "h.e.l.lo?"

Nina looked back up at me and squinted, as if meeting me for the first time. "I told told you, my family don't steal s.h.i.+t." Her jaw worked up and down. you, my family don't steal s.h.i.+t." Her jaw worked up and down.

Defeated, I stomped out of the kitchen. The next day, I visited a hardware store and bought a dead bolt for my room. Without it, I was convinced my stepbrother and stepsister would take everything that wasn't nailed down. I thought this, because that's what I would have done. They didn't want to live with me any more than I wanted to live with them. Yet now that they were here, they would do their best to exploit the situation.

We coexisted uneasily for several months. Nina and I grew no closer. However, I grew to tolerate my stepsister and stepbrother, and then to like them. The unshakable force of the dead bolt imposed a kind of boundary, and they learned to act right. We were pillars of decency in an otherwise s.h.i.+tty adult world: one riddled with deception, neglect, and high-sodium food products. Incredibly, despite the chaos that it grew out of, our friends.h.i.+p exists to this day.

Maybe it would have been an okay family to ride out my high school years with. Nina could never have been a mom to me, but on the plus side, I probably wasn't going to happen upon a box of nudie pictures of her. No magazine in the world would publish one of those.

But it all turned out to be moot, when the house burned down.

It was a Sunday afternoon, and I was down the street at a neighbor's house, drinking beer with Bobby.

Bobby was getting a pretty good buzz on. He could always drink, and when he was in the company of a woman, as he was now, with my neighbor Kelly, he tipped them back at double speed.

"We're about to be the kings of the school," he babbled. "State champs, probably, and then of course, the NFL is my personal plan . . ."

Suddenly I smelled something.

"What is is that?" that?"

"What are you babbling about, Jesse?"

"Yeah," Kelly said, giggling. "Are you getting weird, weird, Jesse?" Jesse?"

"Jesse's always weird," Bobby announced. "Ain't you," he said, slurping.

"Yeah," I said quietly, helping myself to another drink. It wasn't exactly my style to drink in the middle of the afternoon, but h.e.l.l, it was Sunday. My dad and Nina and her kids were up in the Bay Area, attending one of his auctions; I had the town all to myself. Something felt pretty good about the way these cold, watery beers were going down, too. "I just thought something smelled off."

"Pardon him, please, he's r.e.t.a.r.ded," Bobby apologized for me. He tried to slip an arm around Kelly's shoulders. She slipped out from underneath his grasp, giggling. "I'll be happy to ask him to leave, if you like."

We continued partying, working on a collective buzz, listening to music.

"You guys like Bon Jovi?" Kelly asked. "Their lead singer is such a doll. doll."

Bobby laughed. "I dig their ba.s.s player." He screwed up his face, then belched violently. "Giant teenage crush."

I laughed, not really listening. "Seriously, you guys don't smell that?"

"I don't know what you're talking talking about," Bobby said. about," Bobby said.

"Hold on," Kelly said, seriously. "I smell something, too. Doesn't it smell like something's-"

"Burning," I finished for her, my insides flus.h.i.+ng with ice water, and we jumped to our feet and ran out the door.

Outside, half a block down, my house was ablaze.

As I watched, shocked, the house started igniting seemingly of its own accord. Loud, crazy explosions rocked the frame.

"What is that that?" Bobby asked, awed for maybe the first time in his life.

"It's my fireworks," I said. A sinking, helpless feeling was building in the pit of my stomach.

I'd been storing fireworks-black powder, bottle rockets, and bricks of M-15s-in the garage for years, for so long I'd forgotten they were even there. In terrible bursts, they began exploding violently. I had ammo in there, too, bullets and sh.e.l.ls. It sounded like a war. Flames began to lick at the windows, at the walls, at the roof.

Soon a siren's wail could be heard. The fire engines were coming.

Scared out of our minds, Bobby, Kelly, and I watched from the sidelines as a team of firefighters jumped down from the truck. They chopped down my door with axes and began to douse my whole house in water and chemicals.

"This your house, son?" a fireman asked me gruffly.

I nodded.

"Where are your folks?"

"They're not here," I said, watching over his shoulder as more and more water streamed into my garage. Everything in there that wasn't melted in the fire would be ruined by water damage. "My dad and his wife are up in San Francisco."

"You better notify him," the fireman said. "He'll want to know."

So I walked back to Kelly's and called him. I was half-drunk and totally in shock. He told me he would leave his auction immediately and come down to a.s.sess the damage. I sat down on the stoop to wait.

All night, I waited for him to arrive. The firefighters kept working at the house, and within a few hours they had extinguished the worst of the blaze. The foundation remained intact, but the roof had completely burned off. The walls of the dining room and the living room were black and wet, with burn marks over every inch. Worst of all, the garage was gone. I'd lost everything I cared about, including a motorcycle I was working on, my first bike ever. The roll-around toolbox containing all my tools was completely melted. I felt like dying.

Finally, at dawn, my dad and Nina showed up. None of us had slept. A small squad of firefighters was still there, dousing out hot spots.

"G.o.dd.a.m.n," my dad cried, getting out of his car. He walked up to me and stood over me. "How'd this happen, Jess?"

I didn't say anything. There was nothing to say. I shrugged.

"The place is f.u.c.ked, f.u.c.ked," he said. The tone of his voice was dangerously hoa.r.s.e.

I remained silent, scared of the anger that I knew was building.

"No one can live here anymore," he said. He nodded slowly, as if taking in his own comment. "We don't have a house anymore."

"I'm . . . I'm sorry, Dad. I didn't mean to."

"Yeah, he didn't mean to," Nina said sarcastically. "He just loves loves that house." that house."

I whirled to face her. "What are you talking about? Why would I burn the house down on purpose?"

She shook her head at me. "How'm I supposed to know what goes on in that head? All I see is my house burned down."

"Your house?" I cried. "You've only lived here for six months!"

My dad looked at me. "You burned this down on purpose?"

"I didn't didn't burn it down!" I shouted. "I was down the street and I came out and burn it down!" I shouted. "I was down the street and I came out and it was on fire. it was on fire."

"Yeah, and it just caught on fire by itself?" Nina taunted.

"What is wrong with you, Jesse?" my dad asked. "After all I've given you, you go and burn my f.u.c.king house house?"

"I didn't burn it!" I yelled. "How many times do I have to say I didn't I yelled. "How many times do I have to say I didn't do do it?" it?"

"All I'm seeing," my dad said, with blood in his eyes, his jaw clenched, "is a rotten, useless, burned-up building!" He pushed me aside. "It was your fireworks in the garage! And you have the G.o.dd.a.m.n gall gall to stand right in front of me and tell me you had nothing to do with it?" to stand right in front of me and tell me you had nothing to do with it?"

"f.u.c.k you," I whispered. It was the first time I had ever said that to my dad in my whole life.

My father reared back and punched me in the face. His fist hit me with all the force of a grown man's hate, and he broke my nose for me. Blood everywhere.

In disbelief, I touched my nose and watched the blood begin to drip down all over my hand and arm.

Years of frustration and rage coursed through me in one furious instant. I put my head down and tackled him, pinning his aging body to the floor, and with my fists and legs, I tried to kill him.

"Get off me!" my dad cried, but I was bigger than him now, and stronger.

We rolled over each other with our bodies, tangled in a death grip. We crashed through the living room wall, the sick smell of burned drywall and reclaimed water enveloping us.

I hated him so much. I tried to crush him with my hands. If the firefighters hadn't been there, I would have killed him. I remember their slick raincoats against my skin, their hats falling off their heads, as two of them tried to pull me off my father, and a third joined to help them.

"Son!" they cried. "That's enough! Let go! Let go of him."

They ripped us apart and threw me into the corner, where I lay sobbing for what seemed like a long time. My dad lay on the ground, too, ten yards away from me. He didn't make a sound.

Slowly, I rose to my feet, walked out of the blackened sh.e.l.l of the house, and got into my car. I drove away without looking back.

3.

I was alone and homeless. So I went to Rhonda. I felt like I had no other options left.

"Can I . . . can I stay with you for a while?" I asked.