CHAPTER TWELVE

Preppy

The sun beat its afternoon rays down on the top of my head as I stood in our driveway holding a small square of cardboard in my hands. I turned it over, examining every side. The box was no bigger than a toaster. Inside of it was all that was left of the woman who, by DNA only, was my mother. 

I thought of a lot of different words when I thought about her and ‘mother’ in any form was not one of them. Cunt was usually the first word that crossed my mind.

“You sure you don’t want me to come?” Dre asked. She bit her plump lip. Awe, she was nervous for me.

I shook my head. “Nah, I’ll be quick about this shit and I’ll be back before Bo gets home from school. Besides, the bitch doesn’t need even more people wasting their time on her than we already are.”

She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. Like she didn’t know if she could believe me. I didn’t know what else I could do to convince her that I really was fine. That this was more of a disposal than anything else. My gaze shifted from Dre’s when I caught her staring over my shoulder. I turned to see my younger, and not nearly as handsome, brother stepping out of the house, a navy backpack slung over one shoulder.

“What’s up, Kev-ster?” I asked, pinching his shoulder.

Kevin smiled and tugged away. “Stop calling me that, man,” he ground out.

“Okay, I’ll work on another one, but Kev-ster is for sure nickname plan B.”

“She in there?” Kevin asked, pointing down to the box.

“That’s what they tell me,” I answered.

Kevin squinted as if he were trying to see what was inside without opening the lid. “Seems kinda small.”

“You boys behave yourselves,” Dre said, turning to go back in the house.

“Wait,” I said, pulling her back. I kissed her on the lips and she deepened the kiss, pulling me close until Kevin cleared his throat and she pulled away, wiping her fuckable lips.

“Cock-blocker,” I mumbled. Dre giggled.

I caught Kevin staring at her ass as it swayed up the steps and disappeared into the house. I smacked him in the arm. “Ow,” he said, rubbing his shoulder. “Sorry, man. It’s not my fault. She’s got a great ass,” he said, his apology not sounding the least bit apologetic.

It’s not like I could blame the kid.

Dre’s ass really was epic.

When the screen door slammed shut Kevin turned to me. “You ready to do this?” he asked, shielding his eyes from the sun.

I gathered the box under my arm and Kevin followed me to my car. He got in on the passenger side, flinging his backpack into the backseat. I passed him the box to hold on his lap while I drove. “Why exactly do we have the bitch’s ashes anyway? Didn’t you say she was married to a rich guy?”

“Yeah, Mitch. Apparently he told Dre that he found out she had a secret account she was hiding from him. He said she admitted that she was saving money so she could leave him.”

“You don’t think that Mitch...”

“I wouldn’t blame him if he did,” I answered before Kevin could ask the question. “So what’s in the bag?” I asked, turning the engine over. I couldn’t help but smile when I heard the sweet vibrations of my car coming to life. Dre had given it to me last night, tired of waiting for a perfect moment when our lives were a thin balance between totally anarchy and mild chaos.

“You’ll see.” Kevin smirked. “Where we going?”

I threw the car in reverse.

“I’ve got the perfect place.”

****

I could smell our destination long before we reached it.

“Dude, this place really is perfect,” Kevin said, leaning his head out the open window and beaming from ear to ear like a kid approaching the gates at Disney World as he took in the sight before us.

A rusted sign swayed back and forth from the top of a metal fence.

Logan’s Beach City Dump.

I put the car in park. Kevin handed me the box and grabbed his backpack. We headed up some makeshift construction stairs that led to the top of a rusted crane looming like a dirty dinosaur over the piles and piles of compacted garbage. My eyes watered from the putrid smell coming from below. “Let’s do this,” I said reaching for the box. I tossed off the lid and threw it like a Frisbee. It spun in the air until it settled without so much as a sound into the piles of trash below.

“Wait!” Kevin said, holding up his hand. He set down his backpack and got on his knees. He fished through his bag and pulled out a couple of red dollar-store birthday party hats and two of those cheap kazoos with the plastic thing on the end that unrolled when you blew into it like a frog’s tongue. “Here, put it on,” he demanded. “It is a celebration after all.”

“I like your spirit, kid.” I placed the hat on my head and positioned the kazoo between my lips, hanging out of the side of my mouth like a cigar. Kevin pulled out a bottle of cheap whiskey and took a long pull, handing the bottle to me. I did the same, relishing the way the bitter liquid burned my throat on the way down. Kevin then lit a joint and took two long drags, again passing it to me.

We stood there with our party hats on, elastic strings digging into our cheeks and the skin under our chins, overlooking my mother’s final resting place. We stood in comfortable silence for a few moments. Passing the joint back and forth until the sun began to set over the trees, painting the sky yellow and orange.

“Should we say something? A few words?” Kevin asked, looking over to me.

“Sure,” I said, exhaling the smoke and pinching the cherry of the joint. I stuffed it in my back pocket. “By all means, little bro. Go first.”

Kevin cleared his throat and took the box from my hands. “You treated us like worthless trash and now you get to be amongst it forever.” We both clapped and blew into our kazoos, the squeaky noises they made was similar to stepping on a doggy toy.

“Poetic,” I said with a nod. Kevin handed the box back over to me and I looked down at what was left of my mother. Grey ashes and chunks of what I assume was bone. “I’m sorry,” I started.

Kevin glanced over at me like I was about to stroke out. One eyebrow shot up.

“Let me finish,” I growled at him. He bowed his head reverently and I did the same. “I’m sorry, that I didn’t get the chance to kill you myself. I’m sorry you were so worthless. But I do have to thank you for showing me how NOT to be a parent. Thank you for setting the bar so low I can’t help but feel like a winner. By being so worthless you taught me how to value the little things.”

Kevin gave me what sounded like a golf clap. “Brilliant.”

“It was hard, but somehow I made it through.” I reached into the box and pulled out the clear plastic bag holding my mother’s remains.

“Should we open it and scatter her all around?” Kevin asked.

I rolled my eyes and unceremoniously tossed the bag into the garbage below. “She doesn’t deserve that kind of effort,” I said. I was just about to toss the box over as well when something at the bottom caught my eye. A white envelope with SAMUEL written on the outside. I pulled it out. “What the fuck is that?” Kevin asked.

“I was just thinking the same thing,” I said. “Only one way to find out, right?” I tore it open and on the inside I found two cashier’s checks and a short note.

Samuel,

Here is everything your mother took from you over the years (money wise).

If I could give you back everything else she robbed you of, I would.

Instead, I’ve matched this amount and have made a donation to the center for abused women and children in your name to help others so they don’t have to suffer as you have.

I thought I could save her.

It turns out some people just aren’t worth saving.

As her husband it is my job to set things to right again, so this is what I’m attempting to do.

Do what you see fit with her ashes as I don’t want them in my home or in my life.

There is no need to contact me again.

You won’t find me.

-Mitch Bateman

PS- Your wife tells me you are now in contact with your brother. Please make sure you pass along what I’ve enclosed for him, as I have no means by which to contact him.

I passed Kevin the note, which he quickly read and then the check made out to his name in the amount of fifty-five thousand dollars.

“Holy fucking shit,” Kevin said, looking from the check to me like he couldn’t believe his eyes.

“Yeah, holy fucking shit is right,” I said, glancing down at my own check which wasn’t for fifty-five thousand dollars. It was for two-hundred fifty-five thousand dollars.

“Whoa,” Kevin said, looking over my shoulder. I folded the check and shoved it in my pocket, not liking the feeling of it crinkling as I walked back to the car, the stiff corners of the expensive paper poking me in the thigh.

“Mom’s dead AND I’m rich?” Kevin started skipping. “This might be the best fucking day of my life!”

We got in and I started the engine.

“You know something, Preppy?” Kevin asked.

“What?” I asked, pulling onto the main road.

“I kind of like having a brother.”

I leaned over and rustled his hair. “You know, Kevin, I kind of do too.”

The water tower peeked out from the pine trees in the distance. The second big black cock in clear view. The salty air blew into the car and I inhaled it deeply, holding it inside my lungs as if it were the smoke from a joint. We drove passed the vasectomy billboard and then we came upon my favorite sign of them all, the WELCOME, NOW ENTERING LOGAN’S BEACH sign. I smiled like a preteen who’d just touched his first boob.

“What do we do now?” Kevin asked.

I grabbed him by the shoulder, giving him a hard squeeze.

“Now we celebrate!” I shouted, feeling a weight lift off my chest. “Tell me kimosabe, what are your thoughts on strippers and blow?”

“I think, yes,” Kevin answered, his face brightening.

I turned the car to take us to King’s house where he and Bear were waiting for us in the tattoo shop for a pseudo bachelor party which meant locking ourselves away from women and children while we get shit faced and talk about all the dumb, yet fun, shit we’ve done.

“Good. That’s what we’re going to do then. Strippers and blow.” I winked at Kevin and watched his smile fall when I added. “Minus the strippers.”