Talib Kweli and Hi-Tek — Reflection Eternal
Public Enemy — It Takes a Nation of Millions to Hold Us Back
OutKast — Aquemini
Sparta — Wiretap Scars
I got some duct tape from Thebes’s art box and taped Logan’s T-shirt to the metal wiper rod. I was wet and cold and tired and pissed off. I got back in the van and tested the wiper. The shirt unravelled from the rod and fell onto the hood of the car.
Hey, said Logan, I know how you can get rid of that arm flab with different weightlifting techniques.
Thebes asked me what a Passion play was.
We sat by the side of the road in the rain listening to Logan’s CD. Not a lot of traffic passed us. I fell asleep for five minutes and dreamt that I was pregnant with Marc’s baby and we were deliriously happy and proud. When I woke up it had stopped raining and the Crucifucks were silent and Thebes and Logan were gone. Two seconds later they popped up from the ditch by the side of the road and got back in the van and handed me some wet red and yellow flowers that Thebes then insisted on weaving into my hair while I drove and Logan said it was okay if I wanted to take two CD turns and play Lucinda Williams or any of that other shit I had with me.
Logan was leafing through his notebook. He read me his personal ad, an odd assignment he had to do for Family Studies:
I am fifteen years old. I am a consistent B student and enjoy watching football and other things on television. I like gambling and am extremely wealthy. I enjoy films and music of all kinds. I like many different kinds of food and desserts including breakfast. I hate the cold and own many warm garments. I like people who are easygoing and have a crazy sense of humour. No member of my family is “known” by the police and I am relatively well-adjusted.
That’s a lie, I said. You’re known by the police.
Not really, he said.
What about when you kidnapped that guy?
We didn’t kidnap a guy. He was our friend and we just threw him into the trunk for a while and drove around.
Min had called me in Paris in the middle of the night to tell me that Logan had been taken into custody and was being questioned by the cops. They questioned each of his friends separately and the story that came out was that, okay, yeah, chill, man, he and his buddies had planned this kidnapping for the hell of it, basically. They’d grabbed one of their friends off the street, from behind, wearing balaclavas, shoved a blanket over his head, thrown him into the trunk of one of their dads’ cars and then driven around town drinking Red Bull and Jag. The kid had been scared shitless at first but had laughed it off in the end. His parents, though, didn’t see it as such a kick and went to the cops.
What eventually happened? I asked Logan.
Nothing, he said.
That’s the case so often, isn’t it, I said.
Not really, said Logan. Often things do eventually happen.
Well, there’s that, I said. You guys still friends?
Of course! said Logan. What do you think?
I loved that. I loved that Logan and his friends could plot secretly to kidnap another friend of theirs, scare the hell out of him, probably almost suffocate him, definitely scrape him up a bit by throwing him around and everything, get his parents on their asses, not to mention the law, and still come out, natch, as friends! Beautiful.
Logan was quizzing Thebes with a German accent. He’d spent about five minutes getting his hair to stand straight up. Now he was asking her scientific questions about histograms and grids and bio-amplification.
Thebes told us about her book report. She’d taken one of Min’s books: Clara Callan. I wrote that Clara is independent, said Thebes, and makes her own decisions. She decides that she doesn’t believe in God and that she will stop going to church. Another decision she makes is to have an abortion in New York City after being raped by a monkey-faced hobo near the train tracks. I concluded that I thought these were excellent decisions because it means Clara is taking control of her own life, and because I knew Min would like the sound of that.
Logan told us there were three girls with babies in his Family Studies class.
Really? I said. And the fathers?
He shook his head slowly, sighed like a burned-out social worker with an impossible caseload, and said in a fake earnest voice, Yup, where are the fathers?
seven
I WONDERED WHAT WAS HAPPENING TO MIN right now. Was she strapped to a gurney with wires stuck to her head and a spoon in her mouth, wild eyes, and eighteen thousand sparky volts of electroshock frying her brain, filling up the spaces with smoke and ash, and helping her to reconfigure her negative thinking into something less painful but empty? I imagined her doctor sitting in a room next to hers, staring at a computer screen, saying boo-yeah! with every direct hit to her memory target. Or who knows, maybe she was strong enough to sit up and join the “Koombaya” gang in the common room. Hey there, Min, what do you see down by the river? Maybe she was enjoying a moment in her life, a sliver of light, a flash memory of one of her kids, something sweet and approaching reality.
I remembered Min telling me that Logan had had an imaginary friend for a while when he was three or four. His name was Jackson Whinny. He was a football star but he could never play because he was always injured and he only ate fast food and he lived with his mom even though he was a grown man because he needed her to take care of him and his injuries. His other imaginary friend was named Willie the Ghost, but he wasn’t around too often. Min said Logan’s little mind was creating a more gradual exit for the people who had once been in it and then—BOOM—one day weren’t. She said he was subconsciously buying himself time to get his brain around it.
Hey, said Thebes, there’s someone behind us flashing his lights. We’re gonna get jacked!
I checked the rear-view mirror. Two guys in a half-ton. Logan turned around for a look.
Don’t pull over, he said. Speed up.
No, that’s dumb, I said. But I sped up anyway. Isn’t this supposed to happen in Miami or something? I said.
We’re all gonna die! said Thebes.
The truck drove along next to us and the guy in the passenger seat rolled his window down.
Just so you guys know, said Thebes, I love you with all my heart and even if you two don’t have heaven-cred, I do, and I will put in a word with the Big Guy and tell—
Thebes, I said, will you please shut up.
I’ll meet you on the other side, my friends! she said.
Here we go, said Logan. He pulled his hoodie way down over his face.
Circle of life, said Thebes. She threw her arms into the air.
That’s not even original, said Logan. That’s Bart Simpson—
You don’t have to be original when your time is up, said Thebes. Word to yer mama.
Hey, what’s up, I said to the guy. He was smiling. I smiled back.
Nice flowers, he said, pointing to my head.
Thanks, I said. We smiled some more. We could get this massacre over civilly at least.
You’re dragging something, he said. Just wanted to let you know.
They took off, flashed their taillights goodbye, and I pulled over to the shoulder once again. Logan jumped out.
Fuck! He said. Fuck! We’d been dragging his headphones for miles. The wire had been stuck in the door. They were all dusty and torn up. He went over to them and knelt down and picked them up and held them, swearing softly, bereft and tender, but mad as hell. Then he raised his face to the heavens, to his malevolent maker, and screamed, how could he live without his headphones! Why had this happened to him? What had he ever done?