He couldn’t believe the alarm clock had already gone off twice. He
had no desire to get up.
“Jake, the clock’s ticking,” his ma called through the door. She
didn’t open the door anymore without knocking first or at least announcing
herself after catching him doing his business one morning on the corner of his
desk. Though mortified, she didn’t bother him anymore.
Now he had his privacy and could go about his business or whatever he wanted
to.
He looked over at his desk beside his bed. He could do his business now, he supposed, but
didn’t feel like it. The letter was there. So was Cormac McCarthy’s Blood Meridian although he preferred the
other title The Evening Redness in the
West. He’d fallen asleep trying to figure out how he could make his Rabbits better after reading of few pages of the western classic. There had to be
something he could put in the story that would make an editor pay attention and
still remain true to the story. His pencil was in the creased fold of the letter.
He reached for the pencil and wrote down two words on the letter—mindless
reproduction. People knew it happened but now the rabbits did too.
It was an idea that struck him watching Charlton Heston in Planet of the Apes. Rabbits reproduced exponentially. What if
rabbits were the intelligent species that decided to take over control of the planet; their uncontrolled multiplying was stupefying. That’s what he’d written.
“Jake!” his ma called. “You’re gonna be late.”
He took a page of Rabbits, folded it, then got out of bed, pulled on his
faded jeans that were lying on the floor beside his bed where he’d left them
the night before and tucked the page into his back pocket. One thing about
cutting lawns was that clean clothes and a shower weren’t a prerequisite in the
morning. He liked that. He slipped on a T-shirt that had Clint Eastwood on the
front pointing the working end of Dirty Harry's giant .44 Magnum at someone to Jake's right. Summer was good. It didn’t take any time to get ready.
He opened his bedroom door, walked to the bathroom and brushed his teeth. In
the kitchen he sat down at the table in front of an empty cereal bowl with a
boxes of Shreddies and Corn Flakes in front of him. A plate of toast was in the
center of the table.
“I hope you don’t get off early today,” Ray said coming into the
kitchen, “ya gotta get used to this 9 to 5 stuff sooner or later. Learn what it’s
like to make a living.”
Jake didn’t reply thinking, what about living a life?
A car horn sounded outside.
Bobby “Red” Johnson picked Jake up most mornings. He was one of the
lesser brains in their landscaping crew; one of the shovels, as Jake like to
think of him. More of an acquaintance than a friend, Jake saw Red as a free
ride even though he’d already learned there were no free rides in this lifetime.
It saved his mother or Ray from driving him and from the inevitable conversation that
happened every morning or any time he was around them. It would save him from college talk this morning too. He liked that.
“Gotta go.”
His ma had already packed his bag lunch. He grabbed a few slices of buttered
toast.
“Its not good to start the day without breakfast,” she said handing
him his lunch.
“Ma, I’m having toast,” he said, raising the toasted bread slices like
they were pages from his story.
“You’re mother prepared you breakfast,” Ray started to say then seemed
to change course mid-sentence. “You should be more grateful.”
Ray sat down at the table in front of a waiting mug of steaming
coffee. Ray was a do-as-I-say not a do-as-I-do kind of guy.
“See you Jake,” his ma called.
Jake waved. He stuck his feet into his unlaced Kodiaks then reached
for the doorknob. His hand went to his back pocket. The folded page of Rabbits was still there but he didn’t
have a pencil. He never knew when he might need it. An idea, a
few words maybe, just something he would want to jot down and not forget. He
hustled back to his room and grabbed the yellow HB pencil off his nightstand.
He walked by the partially open door of his closet. For an instant, he thought
of Delilah. He hadn’t looked at or touched Delilah for two days. He knew because
he'd counted. She was never far from his thoughts. He often enjoyed just the thought
of touching her.
With Rabbits in his pocket
and a pencil in his hand he left his bedroom.
*
* *
“What are you doing?” Mr. Whiteside said, surprising Jake from
behind. “No, what the fuck are you doing?”
Mr. Whiteside had come out of nowhere.
The shovel was leaning against Jake’s thigh. His page of Rabbits was in one hand, his yellow HB
pencil in the other. He had crossed out the word hurt and was writing the word betrayed
above it. He had found another way to make Rabbits better.
“Give me that fuckin’ thing,” Whiteside snarled. “I’m payin’ you to dig
dirt not to write words on a god damn piece of paper.”
He snatched the paper from Jake’s hand and crumpled it up. He tossed
it in the hole they were digging.
“If you want a job you’ll get your damn ass in gear. If you’re not
done today, don’t bother comin’ tomorrow.”
Whiteside left.
Red stepped up beside Jake.
“Dude, you can’t be doing that here. Yer gonna fuck yourself.”
“I gotta do it some time.”
“Then pay more attention. It’s gonna cost you yer job.”
Red bent down and retrieved the paper out of the hole. He uncrumpled
the crumpled up page.
“No, no, no, don’t!” Jake pleaded.
“What is this?” Red asked. He started to read.
He was but seconds reading what was on the page.
“Dude this is good.”
“Thanks.”
“No, I mean this is a good story.”
Jake felt guilty for his earlier thoughts about Red, doubting Red was
even literate.
Red looked back at the page appearing to read more.
“What are you doing here?”
“Trying to make money to go to school,” Jake lied.
“I know what you mean,” Red said immersed in what he was reading.
“Where’s the rest?”
“At home. I got stuck on this part last night and was trying to
figure out a way to make it work better.”
“You send this anywhere?”
“Yeah,” Jake said, his hand back on the handle of his shovel, “only
about twenty-seven places.”
“And ….”
“They just keep sending it back. I don’t think they even read it but
I don’t know what else to do.”
“Well don’t stop, I can tell you that much.”
“Thanks.”
“But you better get the shovel moving before Whiteside comes back. He’ll
have your nuts in a vice for sure. Trust me, you don’t want that.”
“My nuts are already in a vice. One more person squeezin’em won’t matter much.”
“My nuts are already in a vice. One more person squeezin’em won’t matter much.”
***
Part 3 will follow in the coming weeks. If you haven't read The Actor or The Drive In, you can purchase them from Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Chapters-Indigo or wherever you get your books.
