Texts from Bennett (9 page)

Bennett stood there looking at the bathroom floor. Instead of acting weirded out by the whole situation though, he just stood there quietly. Something was off about his reaction.

Harper was staring into the toilet. It was full of clear water. She then looked at the floor for a few seconds. Nothing. She blinked a few times, and focused her eyes on the counter next to the bathroom sink. She leaned forward and closely studied its surface. She noticed something and increased her pace and purpose. She then wiped her fingers across it before studying her fingertips. I stood next to her. She showed me her fingertips. They were covered with bright bluish residue.

“What’s up?” I said.

She didn’t respond. She walked out of the bathroom and into the kitchen, where she picked up the Balenciaga purse I bought her and rummaged through it before pulling out a pill bottle. She opened the pill bottle and emptied its contents into her hands.

“One . . . two . . . three . . . four . . . five . . . six. Hmph.” She counted the pills before funneling them back into the pill bottle and closing it.

“What?” I barked. “What’s going on?”

“Well, you obviously didn’t get them out of my purse. So that’s good,” she said, approaching Bennett.

Bennett stood there silently. Completely unresponsive.

“Were they yours?” she asked. “If they were yours, just tell me.
We aren’t your parents or the police. I just want to make sure you didn’t steal anything.”

He didn’t respond. He was standing in a hardened pose, with an emotionless face.

She stared at him for a few seconds, squinted her eyes, then walked back into the bathroom and opened the medicine cabinet. From the medicine cabinet she took out a tiny woven basket that she kept stocked full of pill bottles and other various medications, like extra amoxicillin, Nupercainal, Xanax, Percocet, Vicodin, Tamiflu, et cetera, in case we ever got sick and needed medicine. Harper always had various prescription drugs for various things. Her psychiatrist was nothing more than a drug dealer with a degree.

She used her fingers to dig through the various pill bottles, and finally pulled out the one she was searching for. She then held it up to the light and tried to count how many pills were inside of it.

It all made sense now. He had gone into our medicine cabinet and stolen some of Harper’s extra Adderall.

“How many did you take?” she said.

He hesitated for a second, darting his eyes around, then reached into the pocket of his shorts, pulled out two tiny blue pills, and placed them into her hand.

“Is that it?” she inquired.

“Yeah . . . I swear. Dats it,” he said.

“You stole from us, dude?” I said.

“Well, nah . . . I ain’t steal nothin’,” Bennett said.

“No, really, you stole from us,” Harper said.

I took the pills from Harper and put them back into the extra pill bottle before sealing it shut.

“Go downstairs, Bennett. And when you get down there . . . don’t move. Harper and I need to talk,” I said.

Bennett hightailed it to the basement door and tiptoed down the stairs.

“Come talk to me upstairs,” Harper said, motioning her finger for me to follow her to our bedroom. We trekked up to the top of the stairs. From the guest bedroom, I could hear deep snoring reverberating through the oak door. Tim and Lillian were out cold.

Harper dragged me by the hand into our bedroom and sat me on the bed. She then stripped to her underwear, exposing her tightly carved, featherweight body, wrapped in olive skin that was sticky with a layer of perspiration she expunged earlier while working in the yard. She put on highly cut, lime-green soccer sweatshorts with the number
88
on the right front leg and one of the heather-gray tank tops with spaghetti straps that she often wore around the house when relaxing.

She removed the metal dragonfly hair clip that she had used to position and hold her elegant, sandy-blond hair in a twisted bun. She then began to comb her hair out in the mirror until it was untangled and puffily frizzed, needing to be washed. She sat next to me on the bed.

“He stole pills from the medicine cabinet.”

“Yeah. I know.”

“And obviously, you’re not going to kick them out?”

“Well, I mean. I don’t know.”

“Yep. That’s what I thought.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean? They’ve lived here for an hour.”

“He stole my pills from the medicine cabinet. Within an hour!”

“Maybe he just assumed anyone could use those pills?”

“I love you, but you’re not that naive.”

“I’m not being naive.”

“Yeah. You are. And let’s be clear, this is the first offense for me.”

“Ha! Okay . . . ? The first offense?”

“Yep! They don’t even get three strikes. The next thing that bothers me, and I’m going to ask you to make them leave.”

“Harper, calm down. How about you try to enjoy them living here? I mean geez, do you think this is easy for them either?”

“Yes, I do. They get a free place to live.”

“I promise you, they don’t. Okay? Besides, you knew Bennett was troubled. He might do a couple things wrong, but I’ll talk to him. It sucks to see you have such hunger pains to make them leave.”

“Hilarious. Okay. Well, we have an agreement. It’s only a matter of time. And, babe, don’t ever say ‘hunger pains’ again. You aren’t stupid. At least, I think you aren’t.”

“What’s wrong with saying ‘hunger pains’?”

“I’m not trying to be a bitch. But it’s hunger
pangs.
Pang. P-A-N-G.”

“Well, I like ‘hunger pains’ better. It makes more sense.”

I wasn’t thrilled about Harper’s malicious attitude. It felt alienating. I stood up and left the room without another word.

Then, after a few minutes of silently boiling in the hallway, I popped my head back into the room and said, “The only reason your ass takes Adderall is to get high. Don’t think I don’t know this.” And left.

“Adderall doesn’t get you high! They help you read!” she yelled, as I stumbled down the stairs.

“Then why are you mad that Bennett took them? If he reads, he’ll be smarter, won’t he?”

I walked downstairs to the basement to talk to Bennett. He didn’t notice me enter the room, which was funny, because he was interviewing himself on imaginary late-night TV. He was talking to himself in the full-length mirror against the opposite wall.

“Damn, Bennett, what you been rappin’ fo’—jus’ a few months, huh? Damn, negro, you got a hussla’s spirit. What you finely do with all da cheese you make?”

After asking himself the interview question in the mirror, he adjusted his body and stepped a few feet to the side, to give the pretend interviewer an answer.

“Damn, Conan O’Brien, you gotta excuse me, I’m a little amped up on pills right now. Anyway, my redheaded negro—I been watchin’ you since I was sellin’ heroin by the boatload, my dude. Here, have twenty thousand, nigga. Go buy a Lamborghini, playa. You welcome, homie. No, for real, don’t thank me. I got you, playa!”

He began counting imaginary dollar bills out on the table. I hadn’t seen anyone do something like this—interview themselves in the mirror, giving grandiose delusions as answers—since I did it at age seven. It was endearing. I smiled quietly.

“I’mma get a new Hummer and shit. Get dat bitch bulletproofed like Tony Montana in
Scarface
and shit. I’m
definitely
gonna hit da strip club and get a thick, bad bitch who can’t talk. A fine-ass broad who was born wifout a mouth. And uh . . . oh! I almost forgot, check dis shit out, right? Hahaaa. I’mma get LeBron James painted on my Hummer. Jus’ so da hood knows I’m bout bein’ s’cessful. After sellin’ fifty trillion CDs, Conan, I’m tryin’ ta give back to da black community.”

“Who do you equate your success to? Who helped you get here?”

“Well, Conan, my nigga. Prolly my mom. My mom taught me everythang I know. Plus, jus’ bein’ from da hood. Rags to riches man!”

“Hey,” I said, interrupting. I figured if I was going to catch him playing pretend, I’d at least bust him on it during a high moment in his celebrity interview with “Conan O’Brien.”

Bennett jumped and spun around.

“Oh shit. ’Sup?”

“I just wanted to tell you that you’re getting a get-out-of-jail-free card with the Adderall. Okay? Don’t take things without asking. Pills, money, alcohol . . . hell, even food.
Nothing
. You got it?” I said.

“Okay. I got you.”

“If you fuck up again, you’re gone. I’m not even kidding. Harper already wants you gone. Please, give me a reason to let you stay here. Prove me right.”

“Okay.”

“Enjoy your interview with Conan O’Brien.”

“Uh, nah I was just . . .”

“Save it. I used to interview myself in the mirror too.”

Part 3

do u still sleep with a stuffed animal???

No. I’m 30. What a bizarre question. Why?

mY friend Tremaine was making fun of my Bunny today and i almost whoop that niggaz ass

i dont sleep with him but i have him on my self as a reminder to keep me humble

What’s its name?

HUSTLA DA RABBIT

The rest of the weekend went pretty much without incident. Bennett and Harper avoided each other, and the rest of us settled into a rhythm. Harper and I decided to lay down a few house rules, and I made it very clear what would happen if they didn’t follow them.

To help out with rent, Aunt Lillian told me she would contribute fifty-five dollars a month from her disability check. Tim insisted that the government would track him down and arrest him if he got a job because he had access to “highly confidential information about certain rogue members of Congress,” so he was obviously going to be useless. I wasn’t really expecting much out of either of them.

But for Bennett, and I didn’t hesitate to send him on his bike, looking for a job the first Monday morning that rolled around. I figured witnessing firsthand that hard work puts money in his pocket would give him some structure and a sense of responsibility. He could buy some of his own things and realize you don’t take people’s stuff without asking. Plus it would get him out of the house.

When he went out looking at ten that morning, I went to the studio. Harper had already gone to work. Tim was still on the Xbox 360 from the night before. And Aunt Lillian was doing word searches and probably fantasizing about the naps she was going to take all day.

After the studio session was over late that afternoon, I pulled
into the driveway of my new house and parked my car. The sprinkler was running on its preset programming, which made me feel rich and snobby.

For now, I owned a sprinkler system with preset settings.

I walked inside and sat on the sofa behind Tim, who was sitting on the floor. “What’s up Tim?”

“Yo.”

“Where’s Aunt Lillian?”

“Getting dressed.”

“What are you doing?”

“Shhhh. I’m busy. Playing
Rainbow 6
.”

What a dick. I texted Bennett to see how the other man of the house was faring.

ME:
How’s your first day of job hunting?

BENNETT:
its gud i shud have sum money 2nite..gatta plan

ME:
Really? Already?

BENNETT:
yah

ME:
That’s great dude. Good work.

BENNETT:
if dis shit work i might start my own bizness no 1 does this as a job

I heard a weird tap on my door. It wasn’t a knock, but someone had been on the porch. I opened the front door and found a flyer taped to it.

MISSING CAT: SLUGGER

4 YEARS OLD // $100 REWARD

STRIPED WITH BLACK CIRCLE MARK AROUND EYE