The Invaders (18 page)

I WAS STUCK TALKING
to Steven Cronin. We were the two undesirable gimps and people kept giving us looks like we were ruining everyone's good time just by standing there and being in their line of vision.

I was tired of looking at Steven's fucked-up face and he kept asking me for drugs. He said he'd chowed through his painkillers and his mom was watching his intake on the second bottle. Times like this I wish my fucking arm worked, so I could deck him or something. I was going to make a list of the things I couldn't do anymore so that I would have goals to work toward. I scanned the crowd looking for Jill, but I couldn't find her anywhere.

Goal one—Kick someone's ass.

“So who fucked up your face?” I asked.

Steven blinked twice. “You heard,” he said.

“Yeah, I heard. But I can see, too.”

I didn't think there was some band of outsiders prowling the streets
like everyone wanted to believe, and I told him so. Steven and I knew better.

Something had been bothering me lately. Cheryl was acting super weird and cagey and I couldn't even get out of her when Dad was supposed to come home. She acted like she didn't even know. Was that their setup now? He just left for weeks and she kept her mouth shut? She was going crazy from it. I did have to say, though, that she wasn't that bad to be around sometimes. Our little sailing trip was awkward at first, but then when we figured out that we didn't need to talk the whole time it all eased up. It was just good to be back out on the water again. And we'd started sitting in the yard together when we couldn't sleep and looking up at the night sky.

“No, man. I don't remember shit. One minute I'm just walking. The next I'm down on the ground and all I can feel is pain,” he said.

“With your wang out?” I said. I knew I was pushing it, but he was a tool. A psycho, really.

“That was bullshit,” he said.

“Pants around the ankles, I heard,” I said.

“Listen, motherfucker.” His face was getting red. If he hit me, I wouldn't be able to hit back. Everyone was always saying how cute Steven was when we were kids. He was just adorable. And so smart. Steven was just the smartest. He was a fucking genius. He was going to be someone, they all said. They could tell even when he was a kid. It radiated off him and I hated him for it. Cheryl came back out of the bathroom looking lost as hell. Steven stopped glaring at me long enough to look at her, watching her in a weird way.

“Hear what I said?” I said louder.

Steven looked back at me. “My junk was in my pants, asshole,” he said and focused his attention back on Cheryl.

She took notice and looked startled, then started to rush toward home, leaving me alone. That wasn't part of the deal.

“What are you looking at?” I motioned to Cheryl. Maybe it was because she was actually feeling like some kind of mom all of a sudden, but I didn't like him looking at her like that. “She's too old for you, buddy,” I said, kind of laughing.

“So what about you?” he asked.

He wanted to know about the accident, if I felt anything in my arm. Sometimes shooting pains right at the shoulder, I told him, otherwise, nothing at all. He took my hand and lifted it, dropped it to make sure I wasn't lying. It just hung there, and a lesser person would have been traumatized.

I turned and saw that Jill had been watching the whole thing. She was wearing a white dress, which I would otherwise not be impressed with but she had this tan. I shook my head and walked over, pretending to be interested in the calamari sitting in the sun on big metal trays. Worse were the newly shucked oysters sitting nearby in ice, nearly boiling in the sun. I didn't even look back to see if Steven was still talking or anything.

“Gross, huh?” I said as I looked over at her.

That's what I said. I mean, fuck. She made a face like she didn't know what I was referring to, so I pointed at the oysters and gave her a knowing look and repeated, “Gross.”

“I like oysters,” she said.

“Yeah, but do you like ones that are going bad right in front of you?” I asked.

She walked over to inspect them. I was nervous as hell, really. What was I thinking, walking over and telling her what was gross when I had a gimp arm and everyone knew it?

She went through the motions of asking me how I was doing, being polite, like we knew each other. She looked around and I asked her what she was looking for and she said, “My kids.”

There was a pileup of madras plaid in the corner, kids pushing one another, and chasing seagulls.

“Can I see you?” I asked.

“I'm right here.”

“You know what I mean.”

She gave me a weak smile and ran after her kids.

So this is how it was going to be now. The half smiles and silence. I wasn't used to this.

I saw Pauline talking to her parents and I walked to her because she waved me over and right then I needed someone to be nice to me.

She looked surprised to see me, it had been a while, and I eyed her father, testing to see if he knew that I had taken his pills. He looked at me with little recognition and I knew that I was okay. We made rich-parent small talk and I downplayed getting kicked out of Dartmouth as Pauline's mother focused on me with pursed lips. From the way Pauline was looking at me I could tell she wanted to nurse me back to health. I would be a summer project for her and, most especially, a way to upset her parents. I considered it. I was starting to realize that it was hard to find someone who gave a shit about you.

She pulled me aside and said it was time to really party.

I WALKED ALONG THE FENCE
and tried to push it over. They had sealed the base in with concrete, so it was immovable. Why did they have to do it? I felt trapped, the water out of reach.

I looked out at the small docks near the rocky breakwater. Usually, the children's Sunfish sailboats were there all summer long, turned over and drying after long mornings and afternoons preparing for the end-of- summer race. Instead, the docks were empty and it felt strange.

I saw Tuck riding his bicycle down the road and waved him over.

“Haven't you seen enough of me tonight?”

“When you put it like that, yes,” I said. I pointed out toward the water and asked, “Where are the boats? Are they being repaired?”

Tuck shook his head and took a sip from his thermos.

“Are you always drinking?” I asked.

He looked at me and said, “It's my relaxation hour.”

I snorted.

“All you neighborhood ladies are so uptight, if you traveled with a beverage things like this wouldn't happen.”

“I'm not like them,” I said.

“You say that, but I haven't seen you prove it yet.”

“When you're married to someone who's disinterested, all the other choices you have are frowned upon.”

“Aw, come on now. I've just been teasing you all along. I don't want to be your confessor.”

“You asshole,” I said. “I thought you wanted me to feel alive.”

“Less alone is what I said.”

We looked at each other and knew we didn't want that from each other. He laughed and put his arm around me and I can't explain how good it felt to be touched. I wanted to be touched more than ever then.

He took his arm away and I could still feel the imprint of it as he waved his hand toward the docks and scowled.

“Oh God.”

“Yeah, exactly, oh God. She doesn't want anyone walking on her private rock wall so the kids can't get to the docks and they can't sail. Their big summer race—canceled.”

He took a longer sip and said, “She has to be stopped.”

“They're just kids,” I said.

“First the fancy sand and now this shit,” he said, offering me his thermos. I took a sip, not even asking what it was.

“We always watched the race together, as a community,” I said.

“The days of civility are over. Now it's just mine, mine, mine,” he said. “It's dangerous here with the fence. The kids can't get around it and they can't get out here safely. It's all over.” He watched as I drank more and asked, “Are you going to save me any of that or what?”

I handed it back to him. “What is it, anyway?”

“A special blend from the Bahamas. You don't need to know more.”

I rolled my eyes at him and turned my attention back to the fence.

“You're right. She has to be stopped,” I said.

“Do you want to kill her or should I?” Tuck stared at me with all seriousness and I burped up my drink in fear.

“You look like you could do it,” he said.

He took a long swig from the thermos. He stared out across the water and said, “She doesn't even have a soul, so it's not even a big deal.”

We both looked across the water at the absence of boats and I said, “A person is capable of doing just about anything when they're desperate.”

“That's what I like. A little mystery. What's the worst thing you've ever done?”

“I'm not telling you that,” I said.

“It doesn't make you a bad person to do bad things,” he said.

“She can't help herself,” I said.

“I'm talking about us. I'm talking about you. She's a terrible person every day of her life.”

“Why do you keep insisting I'm a bad person?” I asked.

Tuck smiled and said, “I'm trying to tell you that you're not.” He turned to me, “I pee all over her sand at night, on purpose. I fight, in my own way. I'm devaluing her property and she doesn't even know it.”

I shrugged my shoulders and said, “Seems tame, actually.”

He shook his thermos, checking to see if there was anything left. “Don't think I can't be more extreme,” he said.

“You can do it because no one will ever tell you to stop,” I said.

He smirked at me and said, “I'm a Hoover, not a Kennedy.”

“I'm not the type of person who would know the difference,” I said.

He turned his bike the other way, toward his house, and said, “I'll let you know what I decide.”

“About what?”

“This is my neighborhood, too, Cheryl. I was born here.”

He wheeled away without saying another word.

I was worried he was going to do something crazy, but I didn't have
the energy to try to stop him. Maybe he was just trying to shift the balance toward the little people.

As I approached my lawn, I noticed that all my plants were wilting and dying. The hydrangeas were parched, the dahlias blooming with dead, browning petals, the black-eyed Susans petal-less. The peonies had been knocked down and were lying on the yellowing grass. I kneeled and cradled the flowers in my arms.

PAULINE AND I WERE
going to my least favorite island. It was a dump really, just a gutted-out red barn on some sand and rock in the marshes, only accessible by boat. It was where we had spent our high school summers, stepping through sand with layers and layers of broken glass and other discarded things you didn't talk about. The glass clinked when the small waves crashed in the sand, over and over again like bells.

Pauline shut off the engine of the Boston Whaler and floated it onto the sand next to the other little boats. Six wasted girls were walking in the sand ahead of us. They were already taking off their shoes and I was cringing because I knew their feet were going to get all torn up, but I didn't say anything because I was trying to navigate off the boat with my one good arm. There were lights floating past the broken windows of the barn. Pauline hung back, wanting to kiss me. I was surprised. This is what settling felt like, I thought. I tried and failed to get aroused, so I gave her a little kiss and walked on. All the girls were falling all over themselves to get to the coolers of beer and the guys were pretending to
be helpful but just wanted to get into their panties. Don't get me wrong, these girls wanted them grabbing at their panties.

No one looked familiar to me.

Pauline pointed at me, from arm to arm, and said, “Which one?”

I lifted up my good arm and she kept looking at my immovable arm, and I think I caught her grimacing. She pressed something hard and small into my palm and closed it up, then stood back. I opened it and saw a little pill and she smiled widely. Suddenly, I felt like I could love her.

We walked farther down the beach, away from the people, and sat down. I thought about how I could end up with Pauline now. I couldn't believe it. There was something deformed about me that I didn't think I could fix and maybe that was good enough. I slid down onto the sand, getting the seat of my pants wet, but at that point I didn't care anymore. Everything felt wonderful all of a sudden, numb and warm. I looked at Pauline and she was staring at the reeds vacantly, in a holding pattern.

Then Pauline started to touch me and kept apologizing about it.

“I can't help it,” she said. I wanted to push her away but no part of me could move. We sat back and stared out at the ocean and I was hoping the tide would come in and take me away finally.

“I don't feel high anymore,” she said after a little while. I didn't, either, but I knew it would come back. She started kissing me. I kissed back halfheartedly. No, I didn't think I could love her, actually. Anyone, really. I needed to stop fooling myself about that kind of shit.

She felt around for my penis, but I was flaccid.

I started laughing at the thought. I was flaccid all over. She pulled back, thinking I was laughing at her. It wasn't her at all, I told her. I couldn't even form the words to tell her what was happening, so I just kept smiling and letting out laughter like I couldn't control any part of me. I couldn't. My arm didn't work. My penis didn't work. I could hardly even use my hand to make my penis work.
This is it, Teddy. This is the new you.