Brizzles Basket

I have dinner almost ready when I realize there is nothing but water to drink and I also need bread. I walk to the buffet in the dining room. Me putting my wallet in my back pocket and sliding into some shoes catches Danny’s attention.

“Where are you goin’ Dad?”

“I’m going to the Conven… “

Just the two syllables send the child into a sort of panicked tailspin. He runs. He darts and zigzags. He races down a hallway. He dashes back.

“Where’s my shoes, Dad?”

Dan is 3-and-a-half-years-old, and he loves Convenient Food Marts. These are little gas stations and stores that have sprung up on every corner in our city. They stay open 24 hours a day. And more than Disney World, more than boats or blue vans like Papaw’s, Danny loves Convenients. He calls them “The ‘Benient.”

“Listen to me, Danny. I’ll only be gone for like five minutes. I’m going to run straight in to the store and then back out. You stay here with Eric.” (more…)

Before starting the laundry I walk from room to room and look for soiled things that didn’t get sent down the shoot. There’s a dishtowel in the kitchen and a pair of smelly white socks on the living room floor. I climb stairs and enter the bedroom I share with Sam. I walk to the rumpled bed and pull out the tucked-in sheet. More white socks and several pairs of Sam’s underwear fall to the floor. On the left side of the bed, Sammy’s side, I pick up a pair of jeans.

Sammy’s Levi’s feel small in my hands and smell of mulch and sweat. Knowing he’s likely left change or a comb in them I absently search pockets. In a front left pocket I pull out what appears to be five torn ticket stubs. They’re a bright green color.

I frown.

Why would Sammy have tickets to a Haunted House in his pocket? And why five? Why would they have last night’s date on them? Sammy worked last night… he said…

Suddenly I know the whys. Sam didn’t work. He lied. For months now… he’s been lying.

I sit on the side of the bed. I look down at his jeans in my lap and again marvel at how small they are. Almost like a boy’s jeans. A garment belonging to someone not old enough to cheat on you. (more…)

George works with Tim. Tim’s just a kid with a face that looks like it’s made from leftover parts, sweeping a floor, but I get a feeling about him. My guts say he’d be fun, a good guy to know and a good friend. George and I invite the young man to Denny’s. Soon, he becomes part of a growing posse I’m unwittingly putting together.

At the time, only I drive. George, Dan and Tim are all without licenses, or cars, or both, and when there’s a get together or outing, I am ringleader and chauffeur. I go around and pick everyone up.

The third time I pick Tim up he steps onto a cluttered porch and a tall, thin boy — considerably younger than Tim — steps out behind him. Watching Tim approach the car, I wonder why the boy on the porch looks angry.

The kid bends at the waist. “GET OFF MY PROPERTY FAGGOT!” he screams. “I MEAN IT!” (more…)