Blacktop Wasteland(52)

Javon opened his mouth like he was going to ask another question, but then he shut it and turned to the window.



* * *



Later that night, Beauregard sat on the porch drinking a beer. The crickets and the katydids were having a battle of the bands. The moonless sky was black as pitch. The temperature had dropped approximately one degree from a high of 97 earlier in the morning. Moths danced around the yellow porch light. Drawn to their death by the same thing that fascinated them.

Kia came out and sat next to him in the other plastic Adirondack chair.

“Javon is quieter than usual. He fell asleep with those ear phones on. He ain’t come out of his room since we finished eating.”

“Uh huh,” Beauregard said as he took a sip of his beer.

“Anything going on I should know about?” she asked. She touched his arm and he handed her the bottle. She took a long sip, then handed it back. Beauregard answered her question with a question.

“You tell Jean I was doing a job?” he asked.

Kia crinkled her brow. “No, why you ask that?”

“Javon said he overheard you telling her I might have to do something bad to save the shop.”

Kia bit her bottom lip. “I might have said something like that, but I didn’t say it was a job. Now I’ve answered your question. You gonna answer mine?”

Beauregard took another sip. “Pat Thompson came by today. Accused me of burning his place down just like you said he would. We got into it.”

“Did you hurt him?”

“Nothing some iodine and bandages can’t fix.”

Kia leaned back in the chair.

“You think they gonna press charges?”

“Nah. They was in the wrong. I know this ain’t the end of it, though.”

“What’s that got to do with Javon? You know why he’s so quiet, don’t you?”

Beauregard peered into the darkness. The light from the highway danced down the road like ball lightning.

“Javon set fire to the Precision Auto,” he said.

Kia shot up and headed for the door. Beauregard reached out and grabbed her wrist. He pulled her back down as gently as he could.

“He thought he was helping. He’s heard us talking about how tight things are. Burning down the competition seemed like a solution,” he said.

“Jesus, Bug, what are we gonna do?”

“We gonna protect him, that’s what we gonna do. You know, I used to think I was a better man than my Daddy. I tried hard to be a better father. But it’s like I gave my boys a sickness. The counselor in juvie called it a ‘propensity for violent conflict resolution.’ That’s one way to put it,” Beauregard said.

He finished his beer in one long gulp. He stood up and hurled the bottle into the woods. He heard it land somewhere in the brush.

“It’s a fucking curse, is what it is,” he said. “Money can’t fix it and love can’t tame it. Push it down deep and it rots you from the inside out. Give in to it and you end up doing five years in some hellhole. I once saw my Daddy beat a man half to death with a bar stool over the man’s wife. What Javon did ain’t really his fault. Violence is a Montage family tradition.”

Red Hill County

August 1991



* * *



“It’s gonna storm, Bug. See them clouds over there? It’s coming hard and fast. Can’t you smell it in the air?” Anthony said.

Bug leaned out the car window and let the wind slap him in the face. His Daddy was right, he could smell the rain in the air. It was a high sweet scent that suffused the atmosphere. In the distance a mass of dark clouds were gathering. They were full like overripe plums ready to burst.

“After we get the shakes, maybe I should go get some neck bones. Take you home and make some soup for you and your Mama,” Anthony said.

Bug knew what that meant. His Daddy was planning on spending the night. That meant an hour of laughing and two hours of arguing followed by two hours of hushed talking in his Mama’s bedroom. It also meant he got to spend more time with his Daddy.

They pulled into the Tastee Freez and his Daddy put the car in neutral. He set the parking brake and hopped out with a deft agility that belied his size. He closed the door, then leaned through the open window.

“Two shakes and a couple of greasy cheeseburgers. You want anything else?”

“No. Can I get a chocolate shake instead of strawberry?”

“Sure. You changing up on me,” Anthony said with a laugh. He jogged over to the sliding window to place his order. A few other customers were parked to the right of the building. Carhops made trips back and forth, ferrying food and drinks to families in minivans and the odd station wagon. Bug heard the high-pitched laughter of the girl taking the orders. He saw his Daddy trying to poke his head through the window and the girl giggling like a maniac. A few raindrops began to hit the windshield.

He wished it could always be like this. Him and his Daddy riding the roads on a rocket with wheels. Watching the rolling hills blur as they flew past. The smell of gasoline and burning rubber soaking into their clothes. Just him and his Daddy surfing the blacktop. No destination in mind, just enjoying the drive. But he knew that was a daydream. Things would never be that way and he was learning to accept that. The truth was his Daddy was always a better father in his daydreams than he was in real life. That didn’t stop him from loving him so completely it felt as inherent as the color of his skin.