Shame

I saw?” Eddie scratched his head, then reached for suspenders that weren’t there. His exaggerated mannerisms had his circle laughing. “Was some kind of color, I think. Pink maybe. Or Puce. Green, that’s what it was. No, it was Gray. That’s it. That’s the name I saw.”
    Caleb shrugged his shoulders and tried to get by again, but the pack wouldn’t let him. They knew the fun was just beginning. “I got to get to lunch,” he said.
    “What’s you going to eat?” Eddie asked. “Some pussy?”
    Everyone in the circle snickered. The faces around Caleb took on a nightmarish quality. He was sport for hard eyes and mocking expressions and cruel mouths. There were pimples on most of the faces, as shiny and angry and eruptive as the boys themselves.
    “Heard your daddy was a big one for playing with pussy. I mean he didn’t beat around the bush, did he?”
    There were yelps of laughter, poking of elbows into ribs, and slaps on backs.
    “Muff diving’s one thing, but your old man, Jeezuss, I heard one time he took a bite out of a beaver. What’d he think, one gash wasn’t enough?”
    The crowd was growing. It wasn’t just the pack now. Cal’s classmates were gathering on the outskirts, watching, laughing. There for the spectacle. That made it hurt all the more. Over the years Caleb had worked hard on not showing any pain in public. Every night he did his exercises: Mirror, mirror on the wall, who’s the most miserable of all? He called himself all manner of names, tried to harden anything that was soft in him and face up to his own self-hate with a stoic face. But this time his conditioning failed. He could feel his throat tightening, could feel the onset of tears.
    “Your daddy was one sick puppy, wasn’t he, Cal?”
    “I want to get by.”
    Eddie pretended he hadn’t heard. “But he was a proud, sick puppy, wasn’t he, Cal? Couldn’t murder all those gals without leaving a signature, could he?”
    Caleb feinted a move in one direction and then almost escaped through a space between two of the circle’s sentries, but he was caught and thrown back. Eddie put his face close to Cal’s once again.
    “Your real first name’s Gray, isn’t it? Just like your daddy’s real name.”
    Cal’s tears started to fall.
    “Anybody got a hanky for Cal, here?” Eddie asked. His tone was anything but sympathetic. He was feeding on the other boy’s pain. The audience moved in a little closer.
    “Ever see that movie about your old man on TV?” asked Eddie. “Not many people were shedding tears the night he fried.There was partying big time. There was a crowd down at the prison and signs saying, ‘Thank God It’s Fryday.’ And there was one guy walking around handing out recipes for Shame Fried Fritters. Said if you ran a little short of your daddy’s bodily parts, you could always substitute skunk.”
    Caleb put all his strength and anger into his right hand and sent it at McGlynn’s face, but the bigger boy managed to move back and escape the blow. It was the opportunity McGlynn had been waiting for, and he used it to start pummeling Caleb. He wasn’t alone. He never was. The other boys in the circle closed in and took turns throwing punches. Caleb started gasping, the wind knocked out of him. There was no way out....
    Caleb pushed himself away from the window, away from the memory. Being weak embarrassed him. Pressing crowds still took away his breath, and whenever he felt boxed in, he had to stifle the impulse to run. Like now. He decided he needed to eat or drink something, excuse enough to get him out of the room.
    The hardwood floors didn’t cooperate with his desire for silence. They announced his passage with creaks and groans. He felt his way forward in the darkness, moving down the hall and past the living room. The kitchen wasn’t as dark as the rest of the house. The sink window was curtained, but the light from the full moon pressed through the colored fabric, painting the kitchen a translucent tawny rose.
    Lola’s refrigerator contained mostly juices and greens. In the back was a carton of nonfat milk. Caleb didn’t examine the featured missing child on the carton, afraid, he hated to admit, of finding himself. He opened a few old cabinets, tried unsuccessfully to keep the ancient hinges from squeaking, and at last found a glass. He’d leave Lola some money, he decided. The last thing he wanted was to feel beholden to his hostess.
    Caleb was in no rush to get back to the