“The Movement of Horses” by Adam Cushman
--page 4

         Dane is sitting on a small red fence made of wood next to the stop sign at the end of his street. He’s wearing shorts and holding a t-shirt in his hand. To mess with him a little bit I make like the car is out of control and go to plow his half-breed ass down and he’s all cool at first, then maybe he gets scared because he jumps out of the way before the fender bumps the edge of the fence and knicks away at the wood. As a gesture of comradeship, I get out and give him a hug, but he seems to think I want to blow him because he pushes me away.
         “Get off of me. The guitar? You have brought it?”
         After popping the trunk and showing it to him Dane says to go grab his stuff and drives the car away without another word. Smart. Very smart. There will be plenty of time to acknowledge the depth of our bond. What Dane also told me earlier in the truck today was how his dad is in Lima on business. Word has it that Ruben Palacios was once Peru’s ambassador to Brazil or something. It has been said that there is a picture of Ruben kissing the Pope’s hand somewhere in their living room. For me, as an Italian-American, this is a holy kind of thing that deserves much respect. But what Dane was saying was to be quiet and all because his mother and little brother will be inside sleeping. So what happens is Dane’s duffel bag is out by the air conditioning on the side of the house like he said it would be, but before picking it up, it occurs to me that peeking through the window to make sure everyone’s asleep wouldn’t be a total jackoff thing to do and maybe a good way to get a look at the picture. One thing that may surprise you though is that while my strength is considerable, my height is a little below average - five feet four inches to be exact(9). Because of this, the only way for me to see through the window is to stand on top of the air conditioner. This turns out to be a big hassle when something tinny snaps loose and my foot gets stuck, proving that whoever coined the phrase, “No good idea goes unpunished,” was remarkably intelligent(10). Now, this air conditioner must be made of some unusually powerful steel because even with all of my fierce might, my foot will not break free and sadly, I am forced to allow myself to fall backwards and land very hard. At first there is this white light and then a high-pitched humming sound before my eyes make out Dane passing by in the Lincoln. What happens next is Dane’s mom is staring down at me and his kid brother, a pasty little thing in Spiderman pajamas points all creepy-like and says, “He tried to climb in my window.” Mrs. Palacios has her hands on her hips and her red hair twirled up in a bun(11).
         “Who are you and what are you doing?” spits that hot little southern firecracker.
         “I’m Joe. Joe Quick!” Not bad, huh?
         She looks at the hole in her air conditioner and hands me my mangled Nike, which I slip back on and explain all about how, “Dane invited me to sleep over. That’s my bag and stuff.”
         Dane passes by in the Lincoln again and kills the lights, as if this has created a cloaking device.
         “Why is that big ugly blue car circling the block?” and she takes her kindergarten teacher stance with me again and says, “Why are you out walking this late? Dane has never mentioned you, Joe Quick. What kind of name is that? You look Jewish to me.” She is not hiding her desire to get undressed very well at all.
         “Ma’am. Quick is my middle name.”
“He tried to climb through my window,” the little plate-faced Damien repeats.
         The Lincoln passes by much faster this time.
         “There it is again,” she rants and grabs her kid’s arm. A second later they’re both in her Cavalier, pursuing the Lincoln because she thinks the Lincoln is some pedophile or something. Five times both cars whiz by me, faster and faster, a car length apart until finally the Lincoln comes back the opposite way and Dane beckons me in. Without really feeling like rushing, I toss his bag in the back and hop in and it is clear by Dane’s expression that his pride is a little too hurt at the moment to compliment me on my technique. He floors it down a side street. I lean back and stare out the dead mosquito-covered window. Clearly old Dane has just learned a lifelong, most valuable lesson in special ops.

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