love that new thermos smell.” He held it up to one eye, looking into the silvery glass barrel of the thing.
Granny called out to Jack. “Whatcha got, little Jackie?”
“A BB gun,” he said. “I love it.” He put on a smile.
Grandpa pointed at him and arched his eyebrows. “Now listen, boy. If I catch you shootin' anybody's mailbox or winders with that air rifle, or puttin' out some dog's eye, I'm gonna whip that ass. You hear?”
Jack pretended to study the gun in fascination. “Yes, sir,” he said. “I won't.”
Big Jack looked over at his son. “I had a .22 rifle when I was your age. Not an air rifle, but a real gun.”
“He sure did,” Grandpa said. “He grew up with guns. Not like kids today, with the television.”
Jack looked up at each of them. He felt ashamed, but didn't know what to say, so he turned his attention back to the BB gun.
Big Jack gathered up another round of presents and passed them out. They repeated the ritual, opening gifts until the skirt under the tree was bare. With each round, Grandma asked Ramona to collect all the loose wrapping paper and stuff it down into the trash bag.
When all the presents were gone, Grandma lined everyone up for photos, directing them by pointing and shaking her heavy arms, making disgusted sounds and frowning until they understood her wishes.
Afterward, they ate pecan pie.
Chapter 6
1999
That morning at the El Cinco Motel, I woke up slowly, wondering where the hell I was. Finally, my daze passed. I remembered that I'd returned home and I remembered why.
Rolling over and kicking free of the covers, I sat in the near-dark at the edge of the bed. My shoulders and neck were stiff until I rolled them and stretched for a couple of minutes. A thin wall of light reached across my lap from a gap in the curtain, dividing the bed crossways. I blinked a few times and tried to wake up. My tongue felt swollen and dry as it moved around within my mouth. I rarely drank anything while I was visiting the coast. The water smelled even before it hit your lips and the coffee was thin and usually stale. I stayed dehydrated, surviving on the overly sweet orange juice they served in 24-hour breakfast places scattered along the highway.
The region had a distinctive smell, with the dank air acting as a carrier for various chemical odors. No one living down here ever noticed, but the smell assaulted me every time I came home. It went beyond smell. It was an atmosphere created by the gray landscape of refineries. Waking up, eyes burning, it was always the first thing I noticed.
At the window, I pulled back the drapery, leaving the gauzy under-layer in place. Dust floated around me as the morning sun lit up the room. The carpet was stained and filthy even though it was probably vacuumed daily by the minimum wage housekeeping crew. My skin crawled as I looked out over the floor...pubic hair woven through the carpet fibers, interlaced with occasional roach legs or antennae. I wanted a shower.
In an effort to keep them off the floor, I'd draped my clothes over a chair the night before. I collected them up now and shook out my shirt and jeans. At the closet, I reached for a wooden hanger and the others went swinging wildly, clacking like dried bones.
The rectangular window over the tub allowed a fair amount of light into the room, so I left the overhead light off. With great care, I avoided the toilet's cold porcelain base as I maneuvered around in the tiny space. Under the shower, I started to feel better. The steam helped me breathe and the warm water woke me up.
My mind went to Mandy back in Sunnyvale, all red-blonde curls and petite body. She'd been talking about her upcoming honeymoon and this had a powerful affect over me. Eyes closed, I thought about taking her clothes off in my office, late in the evening. Pulling on myself until I was erect, I leaned into the cold tile and started jerking off. Pleasure rushed through me a couple of minutes later and
Granny called out to Jack. “Whatcha got, little Jackie?”
“A BB gun,” he said. “I love it.” He put on a smile.
Grandpa pointed at him and arched his eyebrows. “Now listen, boy. If I catch you shootin' anybody's mailbox or winders with that air rifle, or puttin' out some dog's eye, I'm gonna whip that ass. You hear?”
Jack pretended to study the gun in fascination. “Yes, sir,” he said. “I won't.”
Big Jack looked over at his son. “I had a .22 rifle when I was your age. Not an air rifle, but a real gun.”
“He sure did,” Grandpa said. “He grew up with guns. Not like kids today, with the television.”
Jack looked up at each of them. He felt ashamed, but didn't know what to say, so he turned his attention back to the BB gun.
Big Jack gathered up another round of presents and passed them out. They repeated the ritual, opening gifts until the skirt under the tree was bare. With each round, Grandma asked Ramona to collect all the loose wrapping paper and stuff it down into the trash bag.
When all the presents were gone, Grandma lined everyone up for photos, directing them by pointing and shaking her heavy arms, making disgusted sounds and frowning until they understood her wishes.
Afterward, they ate pecan pie.
Chapter 6
1999
That morning at the El Cinco Motel, I woke up slowly, wondering where the hell I was. Finally, my daze passed. I remembered that I'd returned home and I remembered why.
Rolling over and kicking free of the covers, I sat in the near-dark at the edge of the bed. My shoulders and neck were stiff until I rolled them and stretched for a couple of minutes. A thin wall of light reached across my lap from a gap in the curtain, dividing the bed crossways. I blinked a few times and tried to wake up. My tongue felt swollen and dry as it moved around within my mouth. I rarely drank anything while I was visiting the coast. The water smelled even before it hit your lips and the coffee was thin and usually stale. I stayed dehydrated, surviving on the overly sweet orange juice they served in 24-hour breakfast places scattered along the highway.
The region had a distinctive smell, with the dank air acting as a carrier for various chemical odors. No one living down here ever noticed, but the smell assaulted me every time I came home. It went beyond smell. It was an atmosphere created by the gray landscape of refineries. Waking up, eyes burning, it was always the first thing I noticed.
At the window, I pulled back the drapery, leaving the gauzy under-layer in place. Dust floated around me as the morning sun lit up the room. The carpet was stained and filthy even though it was probably vacuumed daily by the minimum wage housekeeping crew. My skin crawled as I looked out over the floor...pubic hair woven through the carpet fibers, interlaced with occasional roach legs or antennae. I wanted a shower.
In an effort to keep them off the floor, I'd draped my clothes over a chair the night before. I collected them up now and shook out my shirt and jeans. At the closet, I reached for a wooden hanger and the others went swinging wildly, clacking like dried bones.
The rectangular window over the tub allowed a fair amount of light into the room, so I left the overhead light off. With great care, I avoided the toilet's cold porcelain base as I maneuvered around in the tiny space. Under the shower, I started to feel better. The steam helped me breathe and the warm water woke me up.
My mind went to Mandy back in Sunnyvale, all red-blonde curls and petite body. She'd been talking about her upcoming honeymoon and this had a powerful affect over me. Eyes closed, I thought about taking her clothes off in my office, late in the evening. Pulling on myself until I was erect, I leaned into the cold tile and started jerking off. Pleasure rushed through me a couple of minutes later and
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