“The Buddy” by Michael J. Lee
--page 4

        Clay drove intensely, weaving in and out of traffic, creating problems that weren’t there a minute before. He slammed his brakes and screamed racial epithets with a smile. Robert felt around for a seatbelt, but it appeared the vinyl seats had been stripped of them. The stopping and going made him nauseous and he closed his eyes and saw colorful spots. When the truck seemed to idle for an unusually long time, Robert opened his eyes to find Scott and Clay staring at him. They were pulled over at the curb by his house. “Oh, okay,” Robert mumbled. “Thanks for the ride.”
        “Scooter over here made me.” Clay nudged Scott playfully. “Said you were the funniest guy he knew.”
        Robert flushed. He just wanted to get out of the car and climb into his bed and plot his next move with Scott. “Naw,” Robert said. “Paul,” he said. “Paul Spielman’s a lot funnier than me. He can do that thing with his pinky.”
        “Come on,” Scott said. His face said, if you could just do this one thing for me I would be a very happy friend of yours. “Do a voice. Do the frog.”
        “I like jokes,” Clay said.
        “Robert doesn’t tell jokes. He does voices.”
        Clay and Scott were smiling. Robert found it strange how much their smiles resembled each other’s. Both seemed particularly proud of their teeth. But Robert was tired of the frog; it burned him up inside to say those nasty things. But he knew he’d say them until he died if someone like Scott required it of him. In the end it would be a very small sacrifice. He realized there wasn’t much he could do at that moment. Robert glanced over to the opposite side of the street. A very old woman in a white suit was slumped behind the wheel of her Buick. Robert became the frog. “I want to unbutton that blouse and show grandma what a good grandson I am,” he croaked. “Young or old, it don’t matter to me.”
        Clay pounded the steering wheel in exaggerated hysterics. Scott was unnerved; Robert could tell, as he usually confined his lewd remarks to girls their own age. Clay dropped Robert off at the corner of Fairfield and Lupine with a pat on the back and a vague promise to see him again. Scott seemed a bit less enthusiastic, but smiled nonetheless.

~

        “You’re home early,” his mother said. She was navigating the internet in her underwear. “Give me a sec,” she said, and she emerged from her bedroom wearing a pretty cotton dress. “You’re home early,” she repeated.
        “I got a ride,” Robert said.
        “From who? Let me guess...a high school girl?”
        “Me and Scott got a ride with Clay.”
        “Clay. Got a last name?”
        Robert pretended to remember Clay’s last name. “Spielman,” he said. “It’s Paul’s older brother. He’s in high school.”
        “Ok, I know the Spielmans. Mrs Spielman comes to the PTA meetings sometimes. Who’s Scott? Has he been here before?”
        “Scott’s my best friend. Lives on the other side of the expressway. I went over there last week. I told you.”
        “I’m glad you’re making friends,” his mother said, drawing him in. She kissed his forehead. Robert was fit to be sick. She was nice to him, and that was fine, but his mother was forty-five, and her memories of junior high had devolved into a kind of twilight nostalgia of courtship and budding romance. “Bill Halpern and I shared a first kiss behind the baseball diamond,” she would drone, after a few drinks. Robert was certain there was no frog in his mother’s memory. Or if there was, she had done her best to forget it.
        “Wanna watch TV?” she said.

~

-----
Page 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11