thinking about it. I only said it for something to say. I didn’t expect him to take me serious. “But here’s the thing, if they caught me, I’d probably go to jail. At best, they’d give me a dishonorable discharge and with that on my record it’d be impossible to get a decent job.Worst of all, they’d cancel my G.I. bill and then it’s bye-bye tuition money and bye-bye DeVry Institute.” He sniffed twice and clucked his tongue. “But yeah, if I wanted, I probably could skip. It wouldn’t be all that hard. If this fucking sergeant doesn’t get off of my ass, I just might.”
“What’d happen? Do they send a pack of hounds after you?” I bayed like a bluetick and Logan Loy laughed.
“I don’t think they’d come looking for me, unless I pulled some stunt before I left or maybe stole equipment. A gun, say. But if I was driving too fast or something and the cops pulled me over, they’d haul my ass in. No doubt. After forty-eight hours I think they put out some kind of a bulletin.” He lowered his voice like a TV announcer. “Keep on the lookout for Logan Loy, five foot eleven inches and a hundred and fifty pounds. Blond hair and a tattoo of the word
Mom
in a heart on his left arm.”
What he said wasn’t all that funny, but it stirred up a couple happy bumblebees in my belly and set them to buzzing about down there. I laughed because he wanted me to, and knowing he wanted me to made me happy. A good sign, I thought. He ain’t afraid to sound foolish.
“What about you?” Logan asked. “You skipping out on school today?”
“School doesn’t start till next week.”
“One more week of summer, huh?” Logan laughed some more. “That was always my busiest week. I tried to cram in all the stuff I’d planned on doing during the summer but hadn’t gotten around to yet. Maybe I can come up and see you before you have to go back? What do you think? Would that be cool?”
“Yeah.” I closed my eyes and tried not to shout my answer. “Very cool.” My heart swelled—
“I was thinking like a picnic or something. You into that? It’s not too lame for you?”
“Not lame at all.”
—and swelled—
“How does Friday sound?”
—and then it popped from sheer happiness.
Serial Killer
I had saved a really long cigarette butt for after my shower and I was about to light it up, actually had it in my mouth and was picking up the lighter, when Hayes smashed his face up against the screen door and yelled, “Lynnie, sweetie, honey!” With his nose smushed up against the screen like that, he looked like a serial killer. I didn’t say anything at first and I don’t think he could see me since the blinds were down and it was dark in there. “Whatcha doing, Little Flipper?” He made a couple of dolphin squeaks per usual. “Why don’t you let old Hayes in?”
I stayed right where I was on the floor by the coffee table. “My mom said you weren’t allowed in the house because you’re having a spell.”
“Having a what?”
“A spell. That’s what she said. Spell. S-P-E-L-L.”
“The only spell I’m having is one of unemployment. And I believe that’ll be coming to an end here shortly.”
“You get a job or something?”
“I have some prospects.”
After the accident that wound him up in the emergency room where he met my mom, she helped him get a job “managing” the pharmacy of a Drug Rite over in Statesboro. He was not actually a pharmacist, but something called a pharmacy technician, which, to my mind, seemed like the pharmacist’s equivalent to a nurse’s assistant. Maybe not even. More like a hospital candy striper. All apharmacist does is count pills. What does the assistant do, hold the bottle for him? Anyhow, he was fired for reasons that were never fully explained to me (hmm, let me take a wild guess).
“I heard they were hiring over at the Crispy Chik,” I said. “You know you look like a rapist with your face pressed flat like that?”
“In your dreams,
“What’d happen? Do they send a pack of hounds after you?” I bayed like a bluetick and Logan Loy laughed.
“I don’t think they’d come looking for me, unless I pulled some stunt before I left or maybe stole equipment. A gun, say. But if I was driving too fast or something and the cops pulled me over, they’d haul my ass in. No doubt. After forty-eight hours I think they put out some kind of a bulletin.” He lowered his voice like a TV announcer. “Keep on the lookout for Logan Loy, five foot eleven inches and a hundred and fifty pounds. Blond hair and a tattoo of the word
Mom
in a heart on his left arm.”
What he said wasn’t all that funny, but it stirred up a couple happy bumblebees in my belly and set them to buzzing about down there. I laughed because he wanted me to, and knowing he wanted me to made me happy. A good sign, I thought. He ain’t afraid to sound foolish.
“What about you?” Logan asked. “You skipping out on school today?”
“School doesn’t start till next week.”
“One more week of summer, huh?” Logan laughed some more. “That was always my busiest week. I tried to cram in all the stuff I’d planned on doing during the summer but hadn’t gotten around to yet. Maybe I can come up and see you before you have to go back? What do you think? Would that be cool?”
“Yeah.” I closed my eyes and tried not to shout my answer. “Very cool.” My heart swelled—
“I was thinking like a picnic or something. You into that? It’s not too lame for you?”
“Not lame at all.”
—and swelled—
“How does Friday sound?”
—and then it popped from sheer happiness.
Serial Killer
I had saved a really long cigarette butt for after my shower and I was about to light it up, actually had it in my mouth and was picking up the lighter, when Hayes smashed his face up against the screen door and yelled, “Lynnie, sweetie, honey!” With his nose smushed up against the screen like that, he looked like a serial killer. I didn’t say anything at first and I don’t think he could see me since the blinds were down and it was dark in there. “Whatcha doing, Little Flipper?” He made a couple of dolphin squeaks per usual. “Why don’t you let old Hayes in?”
I stayed right where I was on the floor by the coffee table. “My mom said you weren’t allowed in the house because you’re having a spell.”
“Having a what?”
“A spell. That’s what she said. Spell. S-P-E-L-L.”
“The only spell I’m having is one of unemployment. And I believe that’ll be coming to an end here shortly.”
“You get a job or something?”
“I have some prospects.”
After the accident that wound him up in the emergency room where he met my mom, she helped him get a job “managing” the pharmacy of a Drug Rite over in Statesboro. He was not actually a pharmacist, but something called a pharmacy technician, which, to my mind, seemed like the pharmacist’s equivalent to a nurse’s assistant. Maybe not even. More like a hospital candy striper. All apharmacist does is count pills. What does the assistant do, hold the bottle for him? Anyhow, he was fired for reasons that were never fully explained to me (hmm, let me take a wild guess).
“I heard they were hiring over at the Crispy Chik,” I said. “You know you look like a rapist with your face pressed flat like that?”
“In your dreams,
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