Boys Life

another on his chin that said he was no stranger to either pain or bloodshed. He looked toward home plate, where Davy, Johnny, and Nemo stood. “Who the fuck is that?”
    “New kid,” I said. “His name’s Nemo.”
    “Asshole?” Gotha stared at Nemo, too, and I could see the wolfishness in the Branlins’ faces. They smelled sheep’s blood. “Let’s go see Asshole,” he said to Gordo, and started pedaling. Gordo hit the bottom of my mitt with his hand and made the ball jump out. As I bent over to pick it up, he spat a wad into my hair. Then he pedaled away after his brother.
    I knew what was going to happen. It was bad enough that Nemo was so small and skinny, but when the Branlins heard that lisp, it was going to be all she wrote. I held my breath as the Branlins approached Rocket. As they passed, Gotha kicked Rocket to the ground with supreme indifference. I swallowed my rage like a bitter seed, not knowing that it would bear fruit.
    The Branlins pulled their black bikes to a halt, with the three boys between them. “You guys playin’ a game?” Gotha asked, and he smiled like the snake in the Garden of Eden.
    “Just throwin’ the ball around some,” Davy Ray told him.
    “Hey, niggerblood,” Gordo said to Johnny. “What’re you lookin’ at?”
    Johnny shrugged and stared at the ground.
    “You smell like shit, you know that?” Gordo taunted.
    “We don’t want any trouble,” Davy said. “Okay?”
    “Who said anythin’ about trouble?” Gotha uncoiled from his bike and stood up. He rested the bike on its kickstand and leaned against it. “We didn’t say anythin’ about trouble. Gimme a cigarette.”
    Gordo reached into a back pocket and gave his brother a pack of Chesterfields. Gotha produced a matchbook that had Zephyr Hardware Feeds across the front. He put a cigarette into his mouth and held the matchbook out to Nemo Curliss. “Light one.”
    Nemo took it. His hands were trembling. It took him three scrapes to make the match flare.
    “Light my cigarette,” Gotha ordered.
    Nemo, who perhaps had seen many other Gothas and Gordos in many other towns, did as he was told. Gotha drew in smoke and exhaled it through flared nostrils. “Your name’s Asshole, ain’t it?”
    “My… name ith… Nemo.”
    “Ith?” Gordo sprayed spittle. “ Ith? What’s the matter with your mouth, Asshole?”
    I was picking up Rocket from the grass. Here I faced a decision. I could get on Rocket and ride away, leaving my friends and Nemo Curliss to their fates, or I could join them. I was no hero, that’s for sure. My fighting ability was a fantasy. But I knew that if I rode away from that place and point in time, I would be forever disgraced. Not that I didn’t want to, and not that every fiber of good sense wasn’t telling me to haul ass.
    But some good sense you listen to, and some good sense you can’t live with.
    I walked toward a beating, my heart pounding on its root.
    “You look like a queer,” Gordo said to Nemo Curliss. “Is that what you are?”
    “Hey… listen, guys.” Davy Ray managed a frail smile. “Why don’t you guys-”
    Gotha whirled on him, took two strides, planted a hand on Davy’s chest, and shoved him hard, knocking him to the ground by hooking a sneakered foot around Davy’s ankle. Davy grunted as he hit, dust pluming up around him. Gotha stood over him, smoking the Chesterfield. “You,” he said. “Just. Shut. Up.”
    “I’ve gotta get home.” Nemo started to walk away, but Gordo grabbed his arm and held him.
    “C’mere,” Gordo said. “You don’t wanna go nowhere.”
    “Yeah, I do, ’cauth my mom thays I’ve gotta-”
    Gordo howled with laughter, the sound startling birds out of the trees around the field. “Listen to him, Gotha! He’s got shit in his mouth!”
    “I think he’s been suckin’ too many cocks,” was Gotha’s opinion. “Is that right?” He aimed his hard stare at Nemo. “You been suckin’ too many cocks?”
    What made the Branlins the way they were was anybody’s guess. Maybe the meanness had been born in them; maybe it had developed, like the pus around a wound that will not heal. In any case, the Branlins knew no law but their own, and this situation was rapidly spiraling into the danger zone.
    Gordo shook Nemo. “That right? You like to suck cocks?”
    “No.” Nemo’s voice was choked.
    “Yes he does,” Gotha said, his shadow heavy across Davy Ray. “He likes to suck big fat donkey cocks.”
    “No, I don’t.”