t was the kind of day that called for a cold beer. Sadly, Bobby wasn't old
enough to be able to have one. That didn't always stop him, but it did at work.
Sitting in the passenger seat of the delivery truck, he idly sipped at his water
bottle, wishing Verne would get the damned air conditioning fixed already. That
would mean taking the truck out of service for a couple of days, though, and
that would mean no deliveries for a couple of days, and that would mean all
these poor people would have to wait a couple of extra days to get their damned
crap.
"What's
next?" Jimbo was driving, he was older and the insurance was
cheaper because of it. The truck stopped for a light and he peered
over as Bobby picked up the clipboard with the list.
Bobby
sighed heavily. "Washer and dryer. I'll take stairs in and out."
"No bet," Jimbo groaned, "not today. They
definitely got stairs inside and outside. Probably have to go up
three flights or something. Man, why they always gotta get this stuff
when it's hotter'n Satan's balls or raining all to heck?"
"Momma always says suffering builds character."
"Yeah, well, I got enough character to last me 'til
infinity, then."
Bobby snorted with amusement and shook
his head a little. "Probably don't got a/c, neither. Maybe if
it's a hot housewife, we can get some lemonade outta her."
Jimbo smirked. "You ain't old enough to be talking about
hot housewives."
"And you ain't single enough to.
Don't mean we can't." Bobby grinned broadly.
"Oh
yeah? What about Mandy?"
The grin died, fast and hard,
fell into a mild scowl, and Bobby turned to stare out the side
window.
When he didn't answer, Jimbo nudged him with an
elbow. "What happened? I thought you were crazy about her."
Bobby shrugged and sighed. "She up and left for New York
City, like she been talking about for months."
"Damn.
How long ago?"
"A week now. That was last Monday."
"Shoulda said something, Bobby. I'd'a gotten you a beer
or something, at least."
Shrugging again, because he had
no good response to that, Bobby kept watching things go past the
window. It wasn't the worst thing that ever happened to him, he just
didn't really care for what she said when she dumped him. If she'd
asked him to go with her, he would have, but she was pretty clear
about his services as a boyfriend no longer being required. That
first few hours, he was stunned, then he slept on it, then he spent
Tuesday making up dozens of different plans to chase after her.
"I
guess this explains why you been a little quiet lately. All a'sudden
not getting laid anymore'll do that to a guy."
Yeah, he
missed that part alright. Didn't so much miss having to do the stupid
chick crap to get some, but she was a nice piece of ass with a sweet
rack. He thought they were fine, then she up and says he's a lazy
good-for-nothing Momma's boy and she wants to be a star up in lights.
He'd only hold her back and slow her down. So long and thanks for the
sex.
"Aw, come on, boy. She weren't special, right? Just
a good lay. You can get that anywhere."
Bobby made a
grunting noise of acknowledgment. "I just need to burn up a
little steam is all."
"That's what I'm saying."
Jimbo gave him a manly little shove on the arm and nodded his
satisfaction. In just another few minutes, they were at the nice
house in the nice subdivision, carrying out an old washer and dryer,
carrying in a new one. There were steps up to the front door, but at
least the laundry room was on that main floor. They were also
pleasantly surprised to find the house had air conditioning, and they
lingered for a few minutes under the guise of checking to make sure
it was all connected up properly. The housekeeper — it was a
Hispanic maid — wasn't particularly hot or even young, so they were
both just friendly and polite to her.
They had two more
deliveries for the day, then had to unload all the appliances they
took away, into the shop. In there, Kenny'd see what was wrong and
either fix them up to sell used, or scavenge parts, sell what they
could for scrap, and trash the rest. Delivery services were 'free',
meaning the store made money doing it, so there was no reason to
charge extra for it. That was even with both Bobby and Jimbo working
full time with benefits. When they weren't out making deliveries,
they hauled stock around, rearranged the showroom how the owner liked
it, and that sort of thing.
His day started at eight and
ended at five, and he took the bus to and from work. Bobby had his
driver's license, but neither he nor his Momma could afford a car and
insurance. Well, they could, but had better things to do with that
money. He walked home from his bus stop with his hands in the pockets
of his loose denim shorts, too worn out from working all day in this
heat to really pay a whole lot of attention to anything. It wasn't a
long walk, about two blocks, but when he got home, all he wanted to
do was collapse in a chair and stare at nothing.
He gazed
longingly at the two wicker chairs on the porch, but went inside
anyway. "I'm home, Momma," he called in as he stepped out
of his shoes just inside the front door. They didn't have air
conditioning, but they did have a bunch of fans, and right now, the
ceiling fan in the living room was looking like his best friend.
"Haul your butt into the kitchen and you can have cold
lemonade, boy."
Pausing at the couch, just about to flop
onto it, he sighed a little and shuffled to the other room where
Momma was making dinner. He got a glass and the pitcher and poured
himself a cup. "What're we having?"
"Sandwiches
with a salad and popcorn. That sound alright?" She was shorter
than him by about half a foot, but he wasn't tall, only about five
foot ten. She had dirty blonde hair and light green eyes that were
nothing like his own icy blue ones. In her fifties now, she was
showing some wear even though her job — bookkeeper — wasn't too
hard on her. Bobby, on the other hand, had been hard on her. Her
husband, too, for being away all the time and getting himself killed
almost eight years back. Still, he thought she was pretty: just a
little plump without being fat, took care of herself, didn't let life
get her down much.
"I s'pose. Ain't really hungry,
though."
"Gotta eat anyway, boy." She set two
plates and a bowl down on the table and he got salad dressing while
he was putting the lemonade pitcher away. They both sat down. "Lord,
we're grateful for everything we've got and can live without
everything we don't."
Bobby bowed his head while Momma
said her version of Grace over the meal. "Amen." None of
the food was exciting or wonderful, but he appreciated that she made
it for him when she didn't have to. "How's things at work?"
"Oh, same old, same old." She shrugged a little.
"Mr. Peterson is getting a little pushy again, but it's nothing
to worry about."
A little grunt of disapproval escaped
Bobby. "I oughta beat the crap outta him," he grumbled.
Momma looked at him sternly over her sandwich. "You'll
do no such thing. He's just a man, acting like a man. And he's my
boss. Won't do us no good for you to lose me my job."
That
was all well and good, but she was his Momma and Mr. Peterson was
married, and he didn't like Mr. Peterson all that much to begin with.
Probably it was on account the man was a car salesman. "He
oughtn't be doing that is all. Ain't right."
She reached
over and patted his hand with her own. "You're a good boy, but I
can handle myself. You leave him alone. I'm gonna have words with his
wife if he doesn't stop soon."
A few more wordless
little grumbles pushed their way out of him, but he stopped talking
about it. If she didn't want to get into it, he wouldn't keep
needling. Man needed to be dealt with, though. This was going on for
a few months now (at least, that was how long ago she first mentioned
it), and she didn't have anyone else to stand up for her. Grandpa
passed a few years ago, and she didn't have any brothers. Dad's
family didn't have much to do with them on account Bobby wasn't his
son and they never did take to Momma much.
"How was your
day?"
The question pulled him out of his little brood
and he looked up with a shrug. "Hotter'n heck. There's a new
dryer in, might be cheap if'n Kenny can fix it up."
She
shook her head and waved the suggestion off. "I don't mind using
the line. So long as there's enough hours in the day to get done what
I need to, I don't want a machine doing it for me."
This
was hardly a new statement, so Bobby nodded and picked up a handful
of popcorn. "Probably going out with Jimbo sometime soon."
The popcorn got shoved into his mouth. It had just a little salt, the
way he liked it best.
"You finally tell him about Mandy,
then?"
"Yeah, it came up."
"You
tell him I don't want you coming home drunk. You drink that much, you
can sleep on his couch or something."
"Yes, ma'am."
Reaching over, she cuffed him upside the head with a smirk.
"Don't sass me, boy."
It didn't hurt, it never did,
but he always felt like she could really wallop him if she wanted to.
He grinned as he recovered from the semi-flinch it provoked. "Sorry,
Momma."
"I just ain't cleaning up after you like
that, hear?"
"Yes, Momma." At least she gave
up trying to tell him not to drink in the first place. Not that he
did it all the time or anything, just once in a while. And even then,
it was pretty unusual for him to drink so much he was actually drunk.
Mostly, it was just good for dealing with the heat in the middle of
the summer. Like today.
She nodded her satisfaction and
started picking up dishes. If he didn't interfere, she'd clean
everything up herself. Sometimes he stopped her and sometimes he
didn't — it was generally based on how much of a pain he thought he
was being in her behind. Right now, he figured it wasn't much, but it
was enough, so he shooed her off and took care of the dishes himself.
When he was done, all the clean dishes in the drying rack, he grabbed
a beer out of the fridge and saw she was sitting on the couch,
watching TV, looking relaxed and content.
Not wanting to
disturb her and uninterested in the show she was watching, he went to
his room and sat down on the bed, popped open the beer and took a
long drink. His head needed to settle before he'd get to sleep
tonight, though it wasn't that critical. Tomorrow was his day off.
People didn't need new appliances so much on Tuesdays for some reason
he'd never know, though it happened every so often he got called in
for some kind of emergency delivery. His other day off was Thursday.
That Peterson, he needed to stop bugging Momma. Seriously. It
was one thing if she liked it, though that'd be wrong to bust up his
family. If she liked it, though, he wouldn't care, wasn't his
business. She didn't. The more he thought about that man, with his
foofy hair and fake smile, his smarmy handshake and suits with
'funny' ties, the more he wanted to punch the guy in the face. In
fact, he wanted to go do that right this damned minute. Bastard
needed to know he was doing something wrong. Dog craps on the rug,
you smack it on the nose.
He looked over at his clock, it was
only 6:30 yet. The fire of determination got him up off of the bed.
He paced out, moving with purpose. The beer bottle was empty already,
he left it on the table in the hallway. "'M going out," he
tossed towards the living room. Without waiting for a reply, he
headed out the door and went for the bus stop. Time like this made
him wish he had a car or motorcycle, but he didn't, and getting
bothered about it wouldn't help anything. It was really Peterson's
fault they didn't have one, though. He could cut Momma a deal on one,
just so they could have it for emergencies, but he didn't do that.
Employees got paid, that was all they needed. So he said.
The
bus came along shortly after he got there, not giving him any time to
stew before getting on and swiping his pass. Only a few other people
were on it, pretty normal for this neighborhood at this time of day.
Even though there were plenty of empty seats, he was too fidgety and
cranky to take one. Instead, he grabbed a pole and stood there
glowering at the window, watching the scenery go by and thinking
about Momma putting up with Peterson's sloppy advances. Did he touch
her this time? Probably, or she wouldn't have mentioned it. Bastard.
Before he knew it, the stop closest to the dealership came
up, and he boiled off the bus, a dark cloud looking for someone to
storm all over. Peterson could take those hands and shove them where
the sun doesn't shine, and that's exactly what he was going to help
him do. It wasn't even close to dark out yet, nearing on seven in the
middle of summer, so he had no trouble spotting the prick when he got
close enough. There he was, showing some unsuspecting couple around
the lot, trying to get them to pick the more expensive car over that
cheaper one they were more interested in.
Bobby noticed the
husband catching sight of him. The guy put his hands protectively on
his young wife, the woman with a rounded belly, but it must have been
totally obvious who Bobby was actually headed for, because all the
guy did was pull his wife a few steps out of the way. It was enough
movement to alert Peterson to something being up, but not enough for
him to do something about it. He blinked once and put up a hand in a
placating gesture, but Bobby ignored it and clocked him across the
jaw.
It was hardly the first time Bobby ever punched someone,
and he knew how to do it without hurting himself much. Back in
school, he got into scrapes all the time, because he was a little
scrawny and everybody likes to pick on the small kid, even when it
becomes clear he's going to fight back. This time was one of the more
satisfying he could remember, because Peterson was knocked to the
ground and didn't make even half a move toward fighting back. "Who
the Hell you think you are," Bobby spat at him. "You touch
my Momma again, and I'll come back here and kill you, hear?"
"Hi, Bobby," he said with a grimace. Touching his
lip, his hand came away with a little smear of blood.
Bobby
stood there, ready to kick the prick if he didn't say anything more
useful or decided to fight back after all. Pathetic ass didn't even
try to get up, though. "She ain't interested. And if you fire
her, you and me are gonna have more words for that, too."
Peterson nodded and pulled out a handkerchief, pressed it to
his mouth. "I didn't-" Bobby's eyes narrowed and his foot
started to move, so he stopped and scrabbled back a few inches. "I
hear you. She's off limits, I got it."
Man looked like
he'd say or do anything to not get walloped again, but Bobby would
have to take what he could get. "This ain't the kinda thing that
expires, neither." Now that punch was out of him and there was
no fighting back, he lost his taste for it. Guy was on the ground and
acting helpless. He didn't beat guys when they were down, it wasn't
right and it reminded him too much of some of his own beatings. He
needed another beer.
"Yeah, yeah, I get you."
Peterson got shakily to his feet and flashed an apologetic smile at
the young couple. "Sorry, folks. Little personal squabble,
that's all."
Bobby shut his mouth and glared at Peterson
a little more, then turned and stalked away. There wasn't anyplace
nearby he could really go and get what he needed, even if he wasn't
sure alcohol would solve the problem. Walking seemed like his only
real option, so he stuffed his hands in his pockets and just let his
feet carry them. That was exactly what Peterson deserved, and now he
got it, and things would be better for Momma from here. Now what? No
idea. If Mandy was around, he'd go to her place and work off his
frustration that way.
But she wasn't. All since last Monday
night when she dumped him, he'd been ignoring that. Pretended like
she was just gone for a week or two, and things would be alright. He
didn't have to tell Momma, she was there when Mandy left, heard them
arguing and Mandy told her straight up about it. Momma was nice to
her, that's what she said. She deserved to know the truth, instead of
whatever he'd tell her. Because, obviously, he would lie.
Now
he'd told Jimbo, though, it was really real and couldn't be ignored
anymore. Getting laid often wasn't really the only thing he missed.
There was more to it than that. They were dating for seven months,
and in that time, she was someone he could do stuff with who didn't
tell him he was dumb. They went to the park sometimes and stared up
at the stars and she'd talk his ear off for an hour, her voice
droning on in just the right way to relax him. No matter what stupid
crap happened that day, when she did that, he left it behind and felt
better.
She was probably right, that without sex, their
relationship wouldn't be one. When she called him a stupid hick, she
meant it. Why did he even start dating her in the first place? When
he met her, he'd been working for about six months already, had a
little muscle on him finally. She wasn't the only girl that started
eyeing him up, but she was the first one to ever walk up and say hi,
shove herself in his face and drag him out back to offer herself up.
Sure, he dated a few girls in high school, but they weren't really
anything special, just taking pity on the little guy when his nose
was bleeding or something.
Having walked a fair distance, he
looked up to see where he was and didn't recognize it. There was a
gas station, though. A little worn down, he didn't hurry, but headed
that way. Inside, he asked the kid working the register where he
could find the nearest bus stop and got himself a Coke since he
couldn't buy a beer. He waited a good ten minutes for the bus to show
up, and got himself home maybe a half hour later, going straight to
bed.
|
Lee French lives in Worcester, MA with two kids, two mice, two bicycles, and too much stuff. She is an avid gamer and active member of the Myth-Weavers online RPG community, where she is known for her fondness for Angry Ninja Squirrels of Doom. 
