Preppy: The Life & Death of Samuel Clearwater, Part Two
Page 43
Preppy picked up one of his own and mimicked the boy, his teeth coated in chocolate when he spoke. “I’m Samuel Clearwater,” Preppy introduced, extending his hand and swallowing hard. “But my friends call me Preppy.” The boy looked at Preppy’s extended hand like he’s just produced a rattlesnake from his pocket. His eyes went wide and he took a step back. Preppy withdrew his arm and casually scratched the back of his head before and folded his hands together on his lap. He swung his feet like he was running in place.
“You got a name or am I just supposed to call you the cookie kid?”
The boy shrugged and my heart broke right then and there. I felt gutted. Whoever was supposed to be caring for this child wasn’t doing much caring if ANY and immediately I felt the rage burning in my lungs because when Preppy asked him his name he didn’t shrug like he didn’t know it.
He shrugged like his name didn’t MATTER.
I felt my eyes start to water. “You know what? I forgot to bring out the milk. I’m so sorry. You two boys chat for a second and I’ll be right back,” I said, standing up and running back inside.
When I was back inside and out of view of the boy and Preppy I took a second to lean over the sink and collect myself. Then I made several sandwiches with whatever I could find in the fridge and stacked them on a tray with two large glasses of milk. When I went back outside I set the tray on top of the step and took a seat next to it. “You know, Preppy. It was pretty funny how we made way too many sandwiches for lunch today.”
Preppy immediately caught on and shot me a grateful smile. “Yeah, it’s too bad they have to go to waste. Or hey,” he turned to the boy who’d just polished off the last cookie. “I mean, I don’t know if you’re a sandwich guy too but these are just gonna go to waste so if you want...” the boy was already nodding.
I could see him eying the tray and thought he was going to make a full body lunge for it when he stopped and pointed at himself. He looked around the yard and then pointed to the lawnmower we’d parked next to the hose beside the deck.
Then he did it again, slower this time.
“You’re trying to tell us your name aren’t you?” I asked. He nodded and added a crooked toothed grin.
He again pointed to the lawnmower.
“I mean lawnmower is a strange name, kid. I’m not gonna lie. But we’re in the south and I hate to tell ya, but I’ve heard stranger.” Preppy leaned in and whispered with his hand on the side of his lips. “My third grade class had three Bubba’s and I was in gym class with a kid named Bird Dog and his older brother White Zombie. We’ll just call you Mower, or Mo.”
The kid waved at us, jumping up and down.
“That’s your name isn’t it?” I asked. “Mo?”
He shook his head and positioned his ams so one was outstretched and the other was by his cheek like he was about to shoot an arrow. “Nah, his name is Bo!” Preppy exclaimed like he’d just won Jeopardy. The boy jumped into the air and Preppy held up his hand for a high five but the second he saw the hesitation in his eyes he lowered it but kept the smile on his face.
Bo looked at me and then the tray. “Go right on ahead, Bo. Have as much as you want.”
While he tore up the sandwiches Preppy and I shot each other “What the fuck are we gonna do about this poor kid” looks. I thought maybe he could be lost and we could help him find his way home, or maybe his family was down on their luck and homeless, migrating to towns like Logan’s Beach in order to avoid the harsh weather further north when escaping the elements wasn’t an option. I had a hundred reasons in my head why a little boy who presumably couldn’t speak and who cowered at human touch, wandered into Mirna’s backyard, dirty, starving, and completely alone.
His too big shirt fell off to one side exposing his collarbone and every indentation of his rib cage. My breath caught in my throat. There was no mistaking the mean looking purple and yellow bruise in the shape of a closed fist on his chest.
Preppy’s eyes met mine and his nostrils flared. I saw the anger burning inside him that steam might as well have been coming off the top of his head. “So, where do you live?” I asked and suddenly Bo looked from me to Preppy and something about the expression on his face shifted. He grabbed the last sandwich and darted across the yard, scurrying through a hole in the fence like a scared bunny being chased by a dog.
Preppy stood up and ran back into the house.
“Where are you going? We should go after him!” I shouted.
Preppy emerged a few seconds later with a gun in hand. He loaded it from the bottom, smacking the cartridge in place with his palm before cocking it to set one in the chamber. “I am going after him,” he said, tucking the gun into the waistband of his pants. “And the cocksucker responsible for him.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
DRE Preppy came back looking defeated. He wasn’t able to find Bo but he was able to find something else. Bitterness.
I thought he was in the backyard but when I peeked out the window and noticed he wasn’t there I went looking for him. I found him all right.
Sitting on the train tracks.
“Don’t worry. We’ll find him,” I said, coming up behind him and wrapping my arms around his waste.
“We? That’s fucking funny,” Preppy muttered.
I released him and stood in front of him with my hands on my hips. “What the fuck is your problem?”
“Me?” He shook is head. “I don’t have a problem. Oh, unless you mean these.” He flung a stack of papers at my feet. I didn’t need to bend down to pick them up to see that they were divorce papers. The return address was from a law office in New York.
Dad.
“What do you want me to say, Preppy? I didn’t send these but apparently you think I would. They’re from my dad. I told him what was going on. He jumped the gun. He thought he was doing the right thing.”
“Maybe he is,” he spat.
“Why would you say that?”
“Because I can’t save him!” he shouted, jumping to his feet. “I can’t save Bo. He’s out there somewhere cold and he’s alone or taking a beating and I can’t save him. I can’t take care of him and I can’t take care of you.”
“That’s bullshit.”
“You got a name or am I just supposed to call you the cookie kid?”
The boy shrugged and my heart broke right then and there. I felt gutted. Whoever was supposed to be caring for this child wasn’t doing much caring if ANY and immediately I felt the rage burning in my lungs because when Preppy asked him his name he didn’t shrug like he didn’t know it.
He shrugged like his name didn’t MATTER.
I felt my eyes start to water. “You know what? I forgot to bring out the milk. I’m so sorry. You two boys chat for a second and I’ll be right back,” I said, standing up and running back inside.
When I was back inside and out of view of the boy and Preppy I took a second to lean over the sink and collect myself. Then I made several sandwiches with whatever I could find in the fridge and stacked them on a tray with two large glasses of milk. When I went back outside I set the tray on top of the step and took a seat next to it. “You know, Preppy. It was pretty funny how we made way too many sandwiches for lunch today.”
Preppy immediately caught on and shot me a grateful smile. “Yeah, it’s too bad they have to go to waste. Or hey,” he turned to the boy who’d just polished off the last cookie. “I mean, I don’t know if you’re a sandwich guy too but these are just gonna go to waste so if you want...” the boy was already nodding.
I could see him eying the tray and thought he was going to make a full body lunge for it when he stopped and pointed at himself. He looked around the yard and then pointed to the lawnmower we’d parked next to the hose beside the deck.
Then he did it again, slower this time.
“You’re trying to tell us your name aren’t you?” I asked. He nodded and added a crooked toothed grin.
He again pointed to the lawnmower.
“I mean lawnmower is a strange name, kid. I’m not gonna lie. But we’re in the south and I hate to tell ya, but I’ve heard stranger.” Preppy leaned in and whispered with his hand on the side of his lips. “My third grade class had three Bubba’s and I was in gym class with a kid named Bird Dog and his older brother White Zombie. We’ll just call you Mower, or Mo.”
The kid waved at us, jumping up and down.
“That’s your name isn’t it?” I asked. “Mo?”
He shook his head and positioned his ams so one was outstretched and the other was by his cheek like he was about to shoot an arrow. “Nah, his name is Bo!” Preppy exclaimed like he’d just won Jeopardy. The boy jumped into the air and Preppy held up his hand for a high five but the second he saw the hesitation in his eyes he lowered it but kept the smile on his face.
Bo looked at me and then the tray. “Go right on ahead, Bo. Have as much as you want.”
While he tore up the sandwiches Preppy and I shot each other “What the fuck are we gonna do about this poor kid” looks. I thought maybe he could be lost and we could help him find his way home, or maybe his family was down on their luck and homeless, migrating to towns like Logan’s Beach in order to avoid the harsh weather further north when escaping the elements wasn’t an option. I had a hundred reasons in my head why a little boy who presumably couldn’t speak and who cowered at human touch, wandered into Mirna’s backyard, dirty, starving, and completely alone.
His too big shirt fell off to one side exposing his collarbone and every indentation of his rib cage. My breath caught in my throat. There was no mistaking the mean looking purple and yellow bruise in the shape of a closed fist on his chest.
Preppy’s eyes met mine and his nostrils flared. I saw the anger burning inside him that steam might as well have been coming off the top of his head. “So, where do you live?” I asked and suddenly Bo looked from me to Preppy and something about the expression on his face shifted. He grabbed the last sandwich and darted across the yard, scurrying through a hole in the fence like a scared bunny being chased by a dog.
Preppy stood up and ran back into the house.
“Where are you going? We should go after him!” I shouted.
Preppy emerged a few seconds later with a gun in hand. He loaded it from the bottom, smacking the cartridge in place with his palm before cocking it to set one in the chamber. “I am going after him,” he said, tucking the gun into the waistband of his pants. “And the cocksucker responsible for him.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
DRE Preppy came back looking defeated. He wasn’t able to find Bo but he was able to find something else. Bitterness.
I thought he was in the backyard but when I peeked out the window and noticed he wasn’t there I went looking for him. I found him all right.
Sitting on the train tracks.
“Don’t worry. We’ll find him,” I said, coming up behind him and wrapping my arms around his waste.
“We? That’s fucking funny,” Preppy muttered.
I released him and stood in front of him with my hands on my hips. “What the fuck is your problem?”
“Me?” He shook is head. “I don’t have a problem. Oh, unless you mean these.” He flung a stack of papers at my feet. I didn’t need to bend down to pick them up to see that they were divorce papers. The return address was from a law office in New York.
Dad.
“What do you want me to say, Preppy? I didn’t send these but apparently you think I would. They’re from my dad. I told him what was going on. He jumped the gun. He thought he was doing the right thing.”
“Maybe he is,” he spat.
“Why would you say that?”
“Because I can’t save him!” he shouted, jumping to his feet. “I can’t save Bo. He’s out there somewhere cold and he’s alone or taking a beating and I can’t save him. I can’t take care of him and I can’t take care of you.”
“That’s bullshit.”
