“What do you mean?”
“No idea who the bones are, is what I mean. I heard it slip around that they’re a little boy’s,” he said, and I froze. I must’ve not looked so good.
“You okay?” Alvin asked.
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. I gotta’ get some stuff for ma and get back. She’ll worry,” I said, and walked away from the counter. Alvin followed behind me.
“How is your mom?” he asked, “I haven’t seen her in here in a little while.”
“She’s okay. She doesn’t like to go out of the house, though, you know that.”
“Yeah.”
I pulled out the crumpled list from my pocket and tried to remember where things were. After a few moments, I turned to Alvin. He must’ve seen something on my face, because he took the list.
“Come on,” he said, and I followed. “Yeah, he comes in just about every day. Picks up a pack or two of cancer sticks, some ground beef and a six pack of beers. That is, on the normal days,” he said, picking up a gallon of milk and putting it in the basket.
“Normal days?” I asked.
“Yeah. See, sometimes he walks through the doors in a bear of a mood. Usually because of his headaches.”
“Headaches?”
Alvin paused, and put a package of bacon into the basket, “Duh. How long did you live here for? You didn’t know about Ol’ Head’s Aiken? You never heard anyone call him that?” I shook my head no. Alvin grinned again, and grunted a laugh. “Huh. Yeah, he’s always had ’em. Bad, too. His nose even starts to bleeding.” Alvin handed me the basket, now full of things. He handed back the crumpled list, as well. Without moving he said, “That’ll be $34.26.”
I handed him two twenties. I remembered Alvin from the Y. On the ride back to my mom’s house, I thought about how he’d been the best boxer in that class I dropped out of. He beat Kevin O’Mally in the final tournament. I heard about it the next day as I was sweeping up the hallway.
Two boys came by in their Karate clothes, and one said to the other “You hear about that boy, Alvin Tuner?” and the other shook his head. The first one made the snorting sound that meant he was sucking snot down his throat, and continued “Knocked the crap outta O’Mally.” The second boy said “No way,” and the first said, “Sure did. One-two’d him right in the gut, then came up under his chin,” the first boy said, demonstrating with his own crooked jabs. “Fin Baker says it was—,” the first boy kept on, and the conversation undoubtedly continued, but the boys passed around a corner.
I stopped sweeping at that point. Alvin Turner had always been a quiet kid. Every time I see one of those movies about a quiet kid who goes on to be a champion, I think about how I saw Alvin Turner when he was a kid. Quiet, handsome, smart; everyone liked him. His dad was the town mechanic; he and Alvin got along really well. They went fishing every weekend. Hearing how he’d beat up Kevin O’Mally made me smile. I felt for a moment, that day that I should have stayed in the boxing class. I should have been the one to punch O’Mally’s lights out. I wished that I’d have been there to see it.
Alvin handed me back my change. “You hear much about that case?”
“Case?” I asked, coming out of my memories.
“The bones ‘n all.” He closed the till slow. I shook my head. “Rumor has it that they’re some kid’s, like I said. Perfectly preserved is what they’re saying, like someone buried them already picked clean.”
“Anyone seen them?”
“Nobody ‘cept Aiken and Clarke.”
“Jim Clarke?” He’d been our high school basketball coach and one of the science teachers for years. We’d always known he worked for the police, but I never imagined that he was a coroner. It was starting to feel like much longer than a few years since I’d been back. The last few times, though, I guess I hadn’t been very social.
He nodded. “The same.”
“I thought he’d have retired a long time ago.” I said, putting my arm around the paper bag, hugging it close.
“People say the same thing about ol’ Headache, too. There was talk about nigh on a year ago that someone was gonna run against him for Sheriff. Never happened, though,” Alvin said. I nodded. “Who all knows your back? I should see if maybe I can find Darlene Parker and—”
“Nobody,” I said.
He stopped, and his grin faded some. “Suit yourself. Maybe just you and me, then. We’ll go down to the Stop and have a few.” The Last Stop was the bar out by the interstate. When they’d come along and expanded the town from four intersections to eight, the owner had saved the stop sign that used to be the last one before leaving town. The place was famous for collecting bits of the town’s history on the walls. Nothing took pride of place like that stop sign, though; it hung dead center, over the bar, like some sort of religious symbol.
“Sure,” I said, smiling with everything but my eyes. I picked up the groceries and walked for the door.
Alvin waved. “I’ll call you up at your mom’s place.”
I could see him in the glass on the door as I walked out.
Pulling up in the driveway, I thought about how much Alvin Turner had changed after he did putting out Kevin O’Mally; how all the girls seemed to pick on him less. I thought about how his acne had cleared up, and how he’d stopped hanging around with his dad. He got dates. I wondered why he hadn’t made it out of town. I thought, I’ll try to catch up with him tomorrow, as I slid the car into park, and shut the lights off. All the lights in the house were off, as well. They’d all gone to bed. I got out of the car and walked up the steps.
“Hi,” Sarah said, and I jumped. The end of her cigarette flared in the dark.
“Hi.” I shifted the bag around to the other hip.
“You were gone a while,” she said, even though it wasn’t true.
“Yeah,” I said. The bag was getting heavy. The cigarette flared again in the darkness. “What are you doing out here?”
“Nothing really; just thinking.”
I waited for her to say something more. When she didn’t, I stepped past her. She stood and walked behind me. I started to rest the groceries on my knee to try the door, but she glided past me and opened it.
“You coming in?” I asked.
“No,” she said, turned, and sat with her back to the door again. I waited a moment, and wanted to say something, but didn’t. “What did you want to be when you grew up?”
I kept my hand on the door. “I don’t know. Not like dad, I guess.”
“That’s not a good answer,” she said.
“Why not?”
“Because, Michael; you can’t define something by simply saying what it is not. That’s not a definition,” she said. I opened the door.
“Oh.” I walked inside and used my foot to close the door. I was worried I’d trip over something in the dark on my way to the kitchen, but I didn’t. I even remembered exactly where the steps were. I had just finished putting everything away when I heard the front door open. I closed the refrigerator at the same time the front door closed. I heard footsteps go up the stairs. I stood stock still in the dark, empty kitchen for a moment, though I couldn’t tell you why. After a while, I tiptoed up the stairs to my room.
My skin gooseprickled as I slid out of my pants and shirt. I hesitated before taking off my underwear, feeling dirty doing it. Then I was under the covers, their crisp iciness against me. Rubbing my eyes with my thumb and forefinger, I yawned, and drifted slowly further and further downward.
NINE
My foot must’ve found a way out from under the covers or something. It got a little cold. I kept thinking that I’d just get out of bed, turn up the heat, and then get back in. It was Tuesday, my day off. I didn’t have to go in, so I could just sleep. As my eyes drifted open, I saw the room. I panicked for half a second thinking ‘oh, god, where am I? where am I?’ Then I remembered.