Lucy
reruns. He talked on the phone with a deep voice and kicked his dirty boots up on the end of the couch.
Sticky tried to stay awake too. Gave everything to keep heavy lids from sliding down tired eyes. He went back and forth between the TV and Mico. Watched guests wave to a cheering crowd before taking a seat next to Leno, and Mico crumple up empty beer can after empty beer can. Watched singer Bette Midler extend her free hand out whenever she went after a high note, watched Mico flick cigarette ashes onto one of Baby’s beauty magazines. Sticky listened to Lucy’s jokes and Mico’s laugh. Ricky’s heavy accent and the long, deep belches Mico blew up at the ceiling.
The longer Sticky watched Mico, the more he warmed up to him. He liked how Mico laughed at everything. A deep manly laugh. And he was so big and strong. Like he could beat most people in a fight. Sticky pictured Mico walking with him down the street to the market. He pictured everybody making room as they walked past, not wanting any trouble.
At one point Sticky even thought:
Maybe this guy could
be my dad
.
The later it got, though, the more Sticky lost the battle with his tired eyes. And soon he drifted into sleep.
Sticky woke up an hour later with Mico tapping him on the forehead.
What?
he yelled, shooting to his feet.
What?
His blurry eyes darting around the room.
Mico pulled a cigarette from his mouth, let it hang between two fingers.
You should go to sleep, kid
. He unfolded one of Sticky’s blankets and spread it out on the rug.
Sleep on
this,
he said, pointing to the blanket.
Sticky walked over to the blanket and went to his knees. Mico tossed another blanket on his lap and walked to the fridge. He reached in and pulled out another beer, cracked it open.
Sticky smoothed the blanket over his legs, went to lay his head down but realized he didn’t have his pillow.
Pillow’s over there,
Mico said, pointing toward the table. He tilted the can back and sucked down a few swigs. He leaned his elbows on the blotchy counter and looked all around the tiny apartment. His eyes drooped, head swayed. He laughed and shook his head, then stumbled back to his spot on the couch.
Sticky was up fast. He grabbed the pillow with one hand and pulled it behind him. But as he passed the table, his pillow knocked Mico’s black smoke box to the ground. The box tumbled and landed upside down. Clumps of pot scattering everywhere.
What the hell you doin?
Mico yelled, quickly reaching for the box, turning it right side up.
Sorry,
Sticky said, nervously trying to pick the crumpled green out of the thick, dark rug.
Mico crushed his cigarette into Baby’s magazine and got down on his knees. He pushed Sticky’s little hands away and sifted through the rug himself, trying to rescue some of the bigger clumps.
Man, I just bought this shit
.
I’m sorry,
Sticky said.
Mico quickly realized it was useless, that most of his stuff had been swallowed by long tentacles of rug, and then he flipped.
He jumped up and gripped Sticky by the ear. Shoved his nose into the rug and told him:
Sorry don’t do nothin for me
now, do it?
He pushed Sticky’s face into the rug so hard that his cheeks and lips smashed.
See that? Huh? I just bought all
that weed yesterday
.
I’m sorry,
Sticky said.
I’m sorry.
Mico jerked Sticky’s head again and let go.
Sticky sat up quick like he’d just been held under water. Almost drowned. He sucked air through his nose. Fought the lump in his throat, swallowed at it a couple times and made a frown out of his eyebrows.
Mico stuck a finger in Sticky’s face, told him:
I’m gonna
tell you how this is gonna go, kid
. He took a few deep breaths, trying to calm down.
Now that I’m stayin here, we go by my
rules. I don’t care how it went with your moms. All that’s over.
From now on we go by my rules
.
He pulled a new cigarette out of his pack and lit it. Sucked in hard and threw the pack back onto the table.
Now, I ain’t
never had to
reruns. He talked on the phone with a deep voice and kicked his dirty boots up on the end of the couch.
Sticky tried to stay awake too. Gave everything to keep heavy lids from sliding down tired eyes. He went back and forth between the TV and Mico. Watched guests wave to a cheering crowd before taking a seat next to Leno, and Mico crumple up empty beer can after empty beer can. Watched singer Bette Midler extend her free hand out whenever she went after a high note, watched Mico flick cigarette ashes onto one of Baby’s beauty magazines. Sticky listened to Lucy’s jokes and Mico’s laugh. Ricky’s heavy accent and the long, deep belches Mico blew up at the ceiling.
The longer Sticky watched Mico, the more he warmed up to him. He liked how Mico laughed at everything. A deep manly laugh. And he was so big and strong. Like he could beat most people in a fight. Sticky pictured Mico walking with him down the street to the market. He pictured everybody making room as they walked past, not wanting any trouble.
At one point Sticky even thought:
Maybe this guy could
be my dad
.
The later it got, though, the more Sticky lost the battle with his tired eyes. And soon he drifted into sleep.
Sticky woke up an hour later with Mico tapping him on the forehead.
What?
he yelled, shooting to his feet.
What?
His blurry eyes darting around the room.
Mico pulled a cigarette from his mouth, let it hang between two fingers.
You should go to sleep, kid
. He unfolded one of Sticky’s blankets and spread it out on the rug.
Sleep on
this,
he said, pointing to the blanket.
Sticky walked over to the blanket and went to his knees. Mico tossed another blanket on his lap and walked to the fridge. He reached in and pulled out another beer, cracked it open.
Sticky smoothed the blanket over his legs, went to lay his head down but realized he didn’t have his pillow.
Pillow’s over there,
Mico said, pointing toward the table. He tilted the can back and sucked down a few swigs. He leaned his elbows on the blotchy counter and looked all around the tiny apartment. His eyes drooped, head swayed. He laughed and shook his head, then stumbled back to his spot on the couch.
Sticky was up fast. He grabbed the pillow with one hand and pulled it behind him. But as he passed the table, his pillow knocked Mico’s black smoke box to the ground. The box tumbled and landed upside down. Clumps of pot scattering everywhere.
What the hell you doin?
Mico yelled, quickly reaching for the box, turning it right side up.
Sorry,
Sticky said, nervously trying to pick the crumpled green out of the thick, dark rug.
Mico crushed his cigarette into Baby’s magazine and got down on his knees. He pushed Sticky’s little hands away and sifted through the rug himself, trying to rescue some of the bigger clumps.
Man, I just bought this shit
.
I’m sorry,
Sticky said.
Mico quickly realized it was useless, that most of his stuff had been swallowed by long tentacles of rug, and then he flipped.
He jumped up and gripped Sticky by the ear. Shoved his nose into the rug and told him:
Sorry don’t do nothin for me
now, do it?
He pushed Sticky’s face into the rug so hard that his cheeks and lips smashed.
See that? Huh? I just bought all
that weed yesterday
.
I’m sorry,
Sticky said.
I’m sorry.
Mico jerked Sticky’s head again and let go.
Sticky sat up quick like he’d just been held under water. Almost drowned. He sucked air through his nose. Fought the lump in his throat, swallowed at it a couple times and made a frown out of his eyebrows.
Mico stuck a finger in Sticky’s face, told him:
I’m gonna
tell you how this is gonna go, kid
. He took a few deep breaths, trying to calm down.
Now that I’m stayin here, we go by my
rules. I don’t care how it went with your moms. All that’s over.
From now on we go by my rules
.
He pulled a new cigarette out of his pack and lit it. Sucked in hard and threw the pack back onto the table.
Now, I ain’t
never had to
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