Seagull: A Southern Novel Read online

  Contents

  Title Page

  run

  warped

  seagull

  The Great Spaghetti Incident

  snoop

  Marine World

  fight

  boxing

  wave

  fail

  Palmeri

  into the black

  apartments

  home

  Seagull

  Copyright © 2014 by Lawton Paul

  All rights reserved.

  lawtonpaul.com

  If you enjoy Seagull, please consider leaving a review! Even if it's only a line or two, I'd really appreciate it.

  Thanks,

  --Lawton Paul

  run

  Johnny McCready was coming to kill us. So we cut the last few minutes of sixth period and ran all the way home--legs pumping, arms flailing--like nerds at a track meet. We shot straight down Main Street dodging ladies coming out of the A&P, then rolled along at a good clip, occasionally peeking behind us expecting to see a stocky, muscular kid in a dirty t-shirt hot on our tails. But there were only boxy, grocery-getter cars rolling through the heat waves on the black tar road.

  At the Panama Rexall on Rolliston we took a hard right and cut through the park next to a little creek that fed into Trout River. Matty kept screaming, "Slow down, Jesse!" between gulps of air. His face glistened with sweat, red hair sticking to his forehead, eyes bigger than normal. He looked like a hunted rabbit right before the fox comes for dinner. I wasn't much better. But our fear was justified.

  Johnny had beaten up just about every boy in the neighborhood, except my older brother Tyler. Matty said he'd nailed a kitten to a tree by the tail once and just left it there. He claimed he was fifteen, but he'd failed 8th grade and maybe a few others along the way, which pretty much made him the biggest 10th grader in school. He could even pull crab traps and haul boxes up to the dock at low tide. He was supposed to graduate class of '85 with the rest of the 10th graders, but nobody really thought he was going to make it.

  Everything he ever said was an insult and he never called you by your real name. I was Jessica, and Matty was Matilda. He was forever flanked by Billy Hall, a short little bowling ball who was there just to wait until Johnny said or did something hurtful, then laugh on cue.

  Actually, Johnny wanted to kill Matty. I was there because I'm Matty's friend and obviously stupid for being anywhere near him. When Johnny targets you, even your good friends suddenly have other stuff to do. Sorry, dude, gotta hit the library and study for next month's bio test. Yeah, right. I should have bailed. I could've been safe and sound in the air-conditioned library with my algebra book opened to a random page, but there I was, running for my life, all because earlier that day in Advanced History Matty kept referring to Johnny as Johnny "McCretin".

  The college-bound kids in Advanced History with their penny loafers and button-down collar shirts usually high-tailed it when Johnny came around. But Liz McIntosh, who for some reason had a crush on him, told him everything during lunch. Johnny was always looking for a chance to flex his muscles and some little dork calling him names was perfect.

  And so the word went out: Johnny was going to beat Matty up right after school. For Matty, there wasn't much planning necessary. The only real consideration was exactly when to run.

  With Johnny coming to bash your face in, you'd pretty much sell your grandmother away if you thought that would stop him. Right then, running full-out like a mad man, I'd have traded in all of my comic books, my beer can collection—even my baitcaster rig—for a way out. But he wasn't going to go for that. Anything besides a large stick or maybe an attack dog was worthless to me at that moment in my life. And then I realized I was carrying extra weight: my lit and algebra books. I briefly considered just dropping them, maybe buying me an extra few milliseconds of time. But in the end I kept the stupid books because I was starting to smell victory: Matty's house was close. I could see 65th street. I even slowed down a bit so short-legged Matty could catch up.

  At the final turn we both sort of went into a jog. Matty's chest was rising and falling like a piston and he had a bit of a wheeze. His house was three down on the right under a giant oak full of Spanish moss and it was all we could do not to fall down right there. I knew we had to get inside before he had an asthma attack and we had to pull out the dumb inhaler.

  I was so winded at that point as we stumbled down the street all I could say in a breathless gasp was "Keys! Keys!" Matty's jeans were too small for him so he had to hop on his left foot, his right leg pointed straight down, so he could get a hand in his tight pocket. Finally, he produced a key ring with one house key and all I had to do was get us in the door. But that never happened.

  Johnny came at us out of nowhere like a bulldog with a full head of steam. There was no time to jump out of the way. It was like we'd been hit by a truck. The keys, both books, me and Matty all flew into the street like bowling pins. I ended up on the road, my algebra book spinning off like a hockey puck, the brown paper-bag book cover peeling off, trailing behind.

  He'd been waiting for us in that little strip of grass between Matty's house and the Cranston's. He'd been there the whole time. The air was knocked out of me, and for a moment I didn't care about Johnny. I was on my hands and knees in the middle of the street just wanting to get a breath. It was like drowning, but with no water. There was yelling, but it was distant. I'd been transported to another place, away from the people who were still breathing.

  Johnny had Matty on the ground, but this was nothing to me. I wasn't on the street anymore, not tired, not Jesse. There was just one thing: no air. Finally, after waiting for it like Christmas--a breath came. And another. Each one a gift. Then I realized I was on the hot, black street in front of the Cranston's house. And Matty and Johnny were in Matty's front yard yelling at each other. I stood up and stumbled towards Matty's weedy mess of a lawn. And just like that Christmas was over, and I remembered: Johnny's come to kill us--Matty.

  Johnny turned on me, the arms cut off of his plain white t-shirt, brown stains near the neck, greasy black hair hanging down into his eyes. "Move along crab boy. You don't want any part of this."

  That was true. I didn't want any part of it. He put his hand on my chest and pushed back. His arm thick rolling cords of muscle. So strong. I was just a toy. I felt a little pee slip out and my mouth went dry.

  "Go, Jesse!" he yelled and took a step in my direction. His hands balled into tight fists.

  I looked past Johnny and there was skinny Matty, little white inhaler up to his mouth, and that desperate sucking and spraying noise that only an asthmatic kid could make. Johnny stepped closer, his face a strange, sweaty, red grimace--almost like he was smiling. He showed me his fist, put it right up to my cheek. Then he slowly brought it back. The fist was coming for my face. So I did what any sane, breathing, human who values life would do.

  I ran.

  Running away from Johnny seemed like an excellent decision in the moment, and the first few steps toward home were liberating and I felt life returning. I was running to join the other humans whose faces were not bashed in. The survivors. But just about the time I jumped the cat lady's fence and the big two-story was in view, each step away from Matty made me feel that much worse.

  I was really hoping AJ, my Aunt Jeannie, wasn't home, because one look at me and she'd know I'd done something terrible. I'd left Matty. Aunt Jeannie was the queen of the big, gray house on Trout River. Tyler and I did pretty much whatever she said to do. Even the old man, our Uncle Art. He put on a good show though, as if he held equal command, yelling, occasionally barking out orders. But push come to shove he fell in line right with me and Tyler.

  I flung
the screen door open and two-stepped it up the stairs into the kitchen. I was still gasping for air and realized my breathing was loud. So I slowed down my breath, tried sneaking to my room, but as soon as I hit the green carpet in the living room she was there and her eyes got all big when she saw me sweaty and breathing hard like I'd just run a marathon.

  "What happened!" she said. It wasn't a question. It was an accusation. Her eyes were all squinched up and her nostrils were flared like some animal about to pounce.

  "I fell," I said. Shaky voice.

  "I don't think so," she said, hands on hips. I was screwed. There was no way to penetrate her defenses. So I went mute. Played dead. And we stood there in a stalemate for a few long moments. Finally, she threw me a line.

  "You're bleeding," she said. There was concern in her voice. I didn't realize it until right then, but my elbow was bloody from when I hit the street and there was even blood on the side of my light blue shirt. Maybe I could work with this, but I was still drawing a blank and wishing Matty was there because he could BS his way out of anything.

  "You got into a fight?"

  "Uh, yeah." Matty always said the best lies have bits of truth. So this wasn't really a lie. I just wasn't going to mention how I left Matty to die. She wouldn't see the real me.

  "Who?"

  "Johnny McCready." Her lips made a straight little line across her face and she shook her head slowly side to side. Things were looking better. I was bloody and I got into a fight with Johnny. I get sympathy and the questioning was over. Done deal. But I couldn't relax because I kept thinking about Matty and how his face was probably bloody right then and he was never going to talk to me again.

  But she kept digging. "Why did that McCready boy want to fight?"

  "I don't know. He usually doesn't pick on us river rats."

  "You most certainly are NOT a river rat."

  "Okay. Crabber."

  "Why then?" She'd find it soon.

  "I dunno."

  "You're lying." Yes, I was. Please stop digging.

  I decided to play the bloody elbow card. "I'm gonna go clean this up before it gets infected." I figured this was an excellent move because she doesn't like blood and any mention of an infection and she'd be pouring a gallon of peroxide on me. So I started to walk to the bathroom but no go: AJ held out her hand to stop me. It wasn't over and she was going to uncover my little secret shame.

  And sure enough she hit me with the bomb.

  "Where's Matty?" she said.

  I stepped back, stared down at the carpet, at the hole in my sock. If I looked right into her eyes she'd bore into my brain and see everything.

  "He's… He's…" Small voice.

  "With Johnny?" She said, with an urgency in her voice. I didn't have to answer. She already knew. I was going to lose her and Matty in the same day. AJ ran to the phone and called Matty's neighbor, Mr. Cranston.

  While AJ was on the phone I sat down on the floor with my head down and cried like a little kid. I was thirteen going on fourteen and sat there and boo hoo'd like a girl. I was so happy that Tyler and the old man were gone. If you were going to be a coward, desert your friend, then cry about it, it's best done all alone or with as few witnesses as possible.

  "Please don't tell Tyler or the old man," I blubbered to AJ when she got off the phone a few minutes later.

  "Jesse, calm down," she said. "Johnny ran away when Cranston told him the cops were coming."

  Just then Tyler ran in. Tyler, the Golden Boy, who could do no wrong, who could pull traps, load them onto the dock, drive the boat, and even beat up kids he deemed needed a bit of "tough love." He was breathing hard, the back of his t-shirt wet with sweat, veins on his neck and arms bulging like he'd been lifting weights. "I just ran into Billy Hall, Johnny's little butterball friend," he said between gasps. A little spit flew out when he talked and he wiped his mouth on the front of his shirt right there in front of AJ, but she didn't say anything. He took another deep breath. "He says you ran like a little girl. I almost popped him for telling lies, but now I know. It's true." He stared down at me, waiting for me to deny it, his breathing getting slower. Finally he just shook his head and left the room.

  I wondered if he was talking about when we ran from school, or when I left Matty. It didn't matter. I went to the bathroom, closed the door, locked it, and sat down on the tile floor and made myself into a tight little ball.

  warped

  The next morning I got up, put on a clean pair of crabbing jeans and headed for the dock. On the way out I grabbed a banana and some bait shrimp from the freezer. AJ wasn't around so I also snagged a cream soda, wrapped it up in newspaper with the frozen shrimp.

  It was still morning but the sun had burned off most of the fog. I could see the other side of the river, a green line of trees set off by little dark holes where the houses were. I stopped at the point where the concrete path on our property ended and the wooden dock over the water started.

  I put my hand on the old wooden railing. The tide was out a ways and I could see the brown silty bottom. Little black fiddler crabs were darting in and out of their holes, glistening wet in the early light. The water didn't start until the third piling out so I took a few steps, and paused again. My heart started beating faster and my legs sort of lost power, but I closed my eyes and used the railing to guide myself out one step at a time. Once I'd made it to the boathouse I was better. I could chunk the bait out pretty far into the river and sit in the center of the dock where it was safe.

  I grabbed my fishing rod hanging on two hooks underneath the boathouse roof, then cut a big shrimp into three pieces. I sunk the sharp point of the hook into the white meat, flipped the little lever on the side of the baitcaster, then aimed for a spot thirty yards or so off the corner of the dock and heaved it. Just before the weight hit the water I pressed my thumb on the spool so the line wouldn't backlash. If you didn't thumb it you'd end up with an eagle's nest of mono-filament.

  I flipped the switch back, propped the rod up on the railing and kept my hand loosely touching the bottom of the handle. I didn't really need to see anything, just needed to feel the bump, bump, of a fish nibbling the bait. But that morning I didn't get any bumps. So I just sat there and stared at the line of gulls sitting on the Halverson's dock.

  Pretty soon I heard the old walkway boards rattling. I quickly slid the cream soda can behind a stack of old crab traps.

  It was AJ. "You made it out here by yourself?" she said.

  "Yeah, no problem," I said.

  She sat down next to me. The sun was getting higher in the sky and I was starting to sweat. The cream soda was calling to me, but AJ would freak if she knew that was breakfast so I just sat there, turned the handle on the reel to tighten the line.

  "What are you doing out here?" she asked.

  "Fishin'."

  "I think you're hiding," she said. I looked away from her towards the Halverson's. The gulls took flight when the Halverson's little black dog ran out onto their dock. There was a sudden explosion of white wings and barking. Mrs. Halverson ran out in a nightgown and slippers to corral the dog. I stayed quiet, hoping AJ would go.

  Finally she broke the silence. "It's not your fault," she said.

  "Yeah it is. I left Matty with Johnny," I said.

  "Mr. Cranston told Johnny the police were coming and he ran." She lifted my chin up and looked at me. "And what do you think you were supposed to do, beat up that McCready boy? I don't think so." The gulls had settled back down, nicely lined up on the railing again.

  "So why'd he want to hurt Matty? Lemme guess, Matty ran his mouth didn't he," AJ said.

  "Yeah."

  "Did you say anything bad about Johnny?"

  "No."

  "Yet you were right there with Matty in his time of need. Why?"

  "Because I'm stupid."

  "No. You were there because you are a good friend." She put both hands on either side of my face and forced me to look into her brown eyes. "Jesse, bad stuff happens e
very day. The important thing is what you do after. You gonna fall to the ground or stand and fight?"

  "You mean I gotta fight Johnny?"

  "No, silly. I mean when things go wrong you gotta stand up and do something to make it right, learn from it, then move on." She stood up. "When you are ready for some real food come on in. And don't leave that cream soda can out here. It'll just end up in the river." I said thanks and she headed to the house.

  And just like that the tightness in my chest started to ease up a little. And I almost wanted to fish.

  AJ had a way of making even the worst situations feel a little better. I wondered was this the sort of work a real mother did, or was this just a special thing that only AJ could do? I guess I'd never really know. AJ was the closest thing to a mother me and Tyler were ever going to get. Our parents had long-since passed away and the old man and Aunt Jeannie were the only family we had ever really known. AJ took care of us and we helped the old man on the boat catching crabs on the St. Johns river.

  And things were pretty good. But I often wondered about who my real mother was, what she was like--what it'd be like to have a mother.

  Aunt Jeannie had a picture of her and a man. My father. I never tried to remember him, and I didn't even feel bad about that. I was a bad son, I supposed. If I ever had any questions AJ would tell me The Story. She'd go to the closet near the TV that was full of her old clothes, reach up to the top shelf and pull down an old HAV-A-TAMPA cigar box. Inside was a picture. She would take me to the room with the windows that faced Trout River, the Florida room. Then she'd sit down in front of me and she'd talk real slow and patient like I might not understand: "Now here is the picture of your momma, Jessica Palmer. She was beautiful. She was a teacher. This is your father, Charles Palmer. He was so nice and handsome, like you and Tyler. He was an insurance salesman. A drunk driver hit their car on the way back from a trip to the Keys. They loved you both very much."