In the Light of You Read online

  With that, got to admit, I snorted beer out of my nose.

  “Everyone freaks out, right? Bull-dyke Paige is cracking up laughing, and the prof tells the freak to get out. It was CRAZY.”

  “Fuckin’ hell.”

  “Dude and Paige, they’ve got this whole circle of friends that are just like that … you remember the Benetton ad? ‘Kikes and queers and rag heads’ and all. Well, later I run into the guy in the elevator. He held the door for me which was actually really kinda nice of him because I was running late and I had papers spilling out of my arms.

  “‘So hey,’ I said, trying to be friendly, ‘you’re in my Women’s Studies class, right? Seems like a pretty interesting one, yeah?’ And he just starts growling,’Bunch of fucking June Cleavers in that class. Get thin, get sexy, get a rich man. That’s what passes for liberation at the end of the millennium.’ Or words to that effect. And I’m just a stuttering idiot, talking about, ‘Oh … well … umm …’

  “‘Goddamn Cosmo cunts,’ he says. ‘It’s programming, you see what I’m saying? YM to Jane to Cosmo to Good Housekeeping. Everybody laps it up. They want the program.’ And I’m just staring at my feet wishing the stupid elevator would hurry the hell up so I could get off. He keeps going, ‘Cuz, you see, true freedom’s just too hard. All the Bettys have now decided that cleaning house, watching Home Shopping, and fucking the mailman ain’t such a tough gig. You rushing?’ He points at the Sorority postings I had crumpled in my hand. I had no intention of rushing, I just picked them up for the heck of it.

  “But he says, ‘Yeah, I used to think all those people needed to be lined up and executed, but hey, if date rape and paid-for friendship is your bag, who am I to complain?’ The doors FINALLY open and he steps out. Doesn’t even turn around, but says, ‘Keep your head up. It’s sink or swim. Welcome to university life.’ Then he disappeared down the hall. I’m all, ‘Nice talking to you.’ To nobody. Christ.”

  “What’s the guy look like?” I asked her. Even though I already knew.

  “Like the devil. Absolutely COVERED in these viney, like, abstract tattoos. Not cool, spare ones that actually mean something, like yours. ‘Tribal’ I guess you’d call them. And even though it is hotter than the Congo out there today he’s layered in clothes like it’s Minnesota in January. Leather and flannel. Yeesh. And his hair … is down to his ass, twisted and knotted into the most gnarliest dreadlocks I’ve ever seen on a white boy or anybody. Like they were dyed with animal blood or something.”

  “That’s what I thought,” I said. “He doesn’t just look like the devil. He is the devil.”

  “You know him?”

  “I’ve guessed his name.” Jack Curry …

  I didn’t say anything more. I hate the guy. Hate him. It was that visceral, caveman hate. That hate that sits on you because it can never land on its intended target. Like being in the ocean with a nosebleed and hating sharks. Like hating cancer.

  “Well … anyway,” Sherry said to fill the empty space, “I’m excited. It’s my first farm rally tonight!”

  Her excitement was justified. There was a tangible electricity on the farm that night. Sherry was disappointed at first that The Hangmen weren’t playing, as they’d been hyped up so much leading up to the day. Alas, their drummer had been jailed for burning down a black Baptist church. In their place was some grunt-core band called Confront whom everybody else seemed to like, but I thought were boring. As far as I could tell, all their songs were called either “Run Nigger Run” or “Die Nigger Die.” In fact I think they played “Die Nigger Die” three times in a row, but I’m not sure how one could tell.

  Thankfully Richard was there to bring it all home.

  He took to the stage after the band for a change, the headliner you could say, and I could tell that he had a new spark about him that night. Something had stoked the fire. It wasn’t anything glaring or excessive. Just a spark. I could sense that it wasn’t going to be the usual “Destroy,” “Maim,” “Kill them all” skinhead bullshit that night. That night he had a brighter burn.

  He began, “A famous colored man once said, ‘Move over, or we will move over you.’“ Guffaws from the crowd. “Sorry, Stokely.” Laughter and jeers … though a number of folks had to explain it to their friends. “Although I appreciate the gumption and gusto, he didn’t have the power.” Pause. Then, “WE … have the power.” Cheers and shouts of “White Power!” rose as if on cue. “We are the power. I think it goes without saying, but in order to be a true revolutionary, you must fight for what you love and love what you’re fighting for. I know I do. I love my race, and even more so, I love my country.” There was a smattering of claps. “And that’s why I fight for them.” Clapping and cheering. Where’s he going? I wondered. I knew that he knew, but would the crowd follow? “I know a lot of Skins are down on America these days. They resent the welfare system. They get all pissy about the lip service paid to ‘equality,’ ‘inclusiveness,’ the whole ‘open society’ catastrophe and all that.” Groans and hisses. I chuckled to myself. “Hell, some of us are still sour because America took Hitler out.” Laughter and whistling. Richard played with the tension and uncertainty of his audience. Teasing and coaxing when needed, grabbing and throttling when it’s not expected. “But I’m here to say that I love America. I’m proud that the U.S. took down Hitler’s regime. Don’t get me wrong, I have great admiration for Hitler. He’s a hero of mine; you know that.” Applause. “He did what was right for his people in his time. You must admire that. But he made a lot of mistakes … and he fell short of the glory.” Silence. Only the crickets had a retort, and it went unnoticed. “America can learn from the mistakes of the Third Reich. And we will. And we are. I love America.” Cheers. “I’m proud to be American. I’m proud to be a part of America’s new golden age, which is just around the corner, people. Just around the corner. The pieces are in place. The gears are already working. The war is already on.” Shouts of RAHOWA! began to burst out from pockets of the crowd. Richard dropped the microphone to his side for a moment, grinning and nodding as more and more people hollered RAHOWA! RAHOWA! RAHOWA!!! “We have friends in important places,” he continued. “Know that. As we speak, our friends are chiseling away at the communist ‘New Deal’ leftovers. They’re dismantling that toxic doctrine ‘multiculturalism’ that pollutes our society with a cloud of fake togetherness that is neither necessary nor desired.” Cheers and applause. “They are yanking away the free lunches from the lazy and the weak. America will move again. WE are going to get America moving again. I’m proud to be a part of it. I LOVE America.” Hearty cheering and shouting. “Old Glory is the new swastika and I am proud to salute her!” An explosion of cheers and applause broke out. “Mark my words, in the next ten years America will succeed where Hitler failed. Fat Willie and his hog dyke wife are a dead breed and we will dump them on the curb with the rest of the waste and America will at last take its rightful place in this world. The Third Reich has passed. The Fourth Reich is in America right now ready to pull out the aces. The Fifth Reich … is us.” A deafening roar rose up from the crowd. The stars and the moon above were outshone by the light of Richard’s eyes. “We are the power.” A deep guttural chant of WHITE POWER filled the air. It rumbled in the ground and shook the trees. I squeezed Suzi’s hand. She wrapped her arms tight around my bicep and lay her head on my shoulder. Sherry watched Richard on stage. Enraptured. WHITE POWER. WHITE POWER. Richard saluted “sieg heil” with his hand and mouthed “God Bless America.” WHITE POWER. Sieg heil. God Bless America. WHITE POWER. Sieg heil. God Bless America …

  From the moment Richard stepped off the stage Sherry was attached to his arm like a barnacle on a ship’s hull. As many of the folks began to trickle away, a number of us relocated inside the farmhouse, keeping the fire alive. It was very late, and most of us were drunker than we had really intended to get. Suzi sat on my lap whispering all the things she planned to do to me once we got home, none of which we ever got around to.

  At
some point Brian walked in the door dragging this grungy dirthead with a black toolbox by his neck. Hell yes … Screwtape, everybody’s favorite tat man.

  “Hey!” Brian shouted. “Lookit what I almost stepped in!”

  Everyone hollered approval.

  “I’ll be in the kitchen,” Screw announced, “if anybody needs a touch-up.”

  A few of us muscled our way in quickly. Guys proceeded to pull off their shirts, girls peeled off fishnets, sleeves rolled. The room was an ocean of ink-stained flesh. Sherry stumbled drunkenly into the kitchen.

  “I want one! I want one!” she slurred.

  Screw sneered at her, “Better clear it with your daddy first, little girl.”

  A few people chuckled.

  “Eat me, you faggot!” Sherry snapped at him. Screw jumped back, startled. Those of us who sort of knew her were taken aback as well. It was certainly a side we hadn’t seen as yet. We all howled with laughter, and called Screw out as a pussy for his concern. Sherry yanked her shirt up, exposing her breasts to all in attendance and pointed to the swastika on Richard’s shoulder. “I want this, right here over my fucking left tit, see!”

  Screwtape grimaced and looked at Richard, unsure of what to do.

  “Better do what you’re told, Screw,” Richard chuckled.

  “Rich,” he pleaded. “Come on. She’s drunk as hell. She’s gonna bleed like a cherry on prom night.”

  Richard shrugged and guzzled the remainder of his beer.

  “Come on, Tape,” I said. “Your reputation’s on the line.”

  “Take a message,” he said with a shrug of resignation.

  Screw pulled out his needle gun, cranked up the buzz. I stood right behind Sherry, and I heard him whisper in her ear …

  “Listen to me carefully, okay? If anyone asks you what this is, tell ‘em it’s a sun wheel, you hear me? A sun wheel. That’s all. Or … tell ‘em you’re Hindu.”

  I barely stifled a laugh, but Sherry just nodded, hardly able to keep her balance. As Screwtape pressed the buzzing needle against her skin she gave out a little whimper of pain, but held strong, determined to see it through. See it she did not, however, for as soon as the first trickle of blood dripped from her bare nipple, she blacked out and collapsed backward into my arms. I held her up as vertical as I could while Screw finished the piece. Once it was completed, Richard relieved me of her. He scooped her up to carry her out to the car. Laughing, he rolled his eyes, and kissed the top of my bristly head in gratitude. All in a day’s work.

  Once we got home we all crashed hard. Reeba and Phil had pretty well commandeered the abandoned apartment next door and a number of people fell out over there.

  As I lay down to go to sleep, Suzi said, “Mikal, let’s pretend like we’re gonna get married someday, okay?”

  “Why pretend?”

  “I’d like to meet your folks sometime.”

  “No you wouldn’t. Trust me.”

  “I bet you’re coloring them unfairly. Why do you think they love your brother more than you?”

  “Because I lived.”

  6.

  THE next morning I was awakened by clumsy rustling out in the living room. I walked in to see Sherry frantically stuffing papers and books into her school bag. She was decked out: tight Final Solution T-shirt, black boots with “RAHOWA,” “white power,” and all the necessaries painted on, jeans she must have been stitched into, and a leather tie-off wrapped around her wrist (which I found out later was some bit of a “game” between herself and Richard). I had never really noticed her figure before then. It was indeed worth noticing. She grabbed Richard’s jacket, which was too big for her, zipped it up, and rolled down the cuffs of her jeans to cover anything potentially offensive or controversial. She smiled thinly to me. I could tell she was hung over and hating the morning sun like all hell. I was pretty well there myself, but at least I didn’t have Beginning Calculus at 9:00 AM.

  “Thanks for saving me last night,” she said. “I guess I woulda gone splat on the tiles if you hadn’t been there to catch me.”

  “What are friends for,” I said. She nodded.

  “Reeba’s gonna do my hair tonight. I’m thinking maybe a Siouxie Sioux-meets-Annie Lennox sort of look. What do you think? Pretty rad, huh?”

  “I don’t know who that is,” I said. I still don’t. Never did keep up with old Hollywood.

  “Reeba says she’s gonna make me look super hot. I’ve never looked super hot before.”

  “Good luck with that.”

  “Quite a commitment on my part I guess,” she said indicating her new look.

  I laughed. “The real commitment is, as we speak, scabbing up on your left boob.”

  “God, it itches so badly,” she whined.

  “Don’t scratch it, you’ll fuck it up. When you get home from school put some lotion on it. You’ll be all right.”

  “We’ll see,” she said, and headed out on her way. “Hey Mikal,” she said turning back again. “Did you know that Hitler was a vegetarian?”

  “I did indeed, yes. Raised Catholic too.”

  She smiled and walked out. Whatever it takes.

  Richard stayed in his bedroom the rest of the morning. He must have had a headache rumbling straight from the bowels of the earth, for he did not turn his music on once. I lay on the couch reading most of the day. Considered continuing my search for a job, but to hell with it.

  Around noon I heard the phone ring in Richard’s room. He walked it out to the living room where I was, hit the Talk button, and chucked it at me. Amazingly enough, I caught it. He lumbered on back to his room without a word spoken.

  “Hello?”

  “Is this Mikal?” The woman’s voice on the other end was hoarse and desperate. She took a deep drag from her cigarette like it was the last she would ever smoke.

  “Yeah.”

  “This is Suzi’s mother.”

  Well well well.

  “How ya doing, Ma? Good to finally hear from ya.”

  “Listen, I ain’t gonna bullshit around here. You takin’ Suzi away?”

  “Sorry?”

  “Are you gonna take her away?!”

  So much for getting-to-know-you. I let the moment hang. Figured a little sweating it out is good for the soul. She took another suicide drag from her smoke.

  “Well,” I answered eventually, “I’d like to, yeah.”

  “GOOD! You gotta do that. Get her far from here. There ain’t nothing for her here.”

  “So I’ve noticed. Nothing but a lifetime of ass beatings is how it looks from my angle.”

  “Look,” she said, her voice cracking, “I do what I gotta do. I’m just trying to do what’s right. I ain’t perfect.”

  “Uh huh, that’s one way of putting it.”

  “Don’t you judge me, you little punk!”

  “Listen up, you rancid twat, anything I do, any decision I make is gonna be because I thought it was the thing to do. Not cuz the likes of you—”

  “Goddamn it! Listen to me!”

  “D’you hit her in the face with a bucket of—”

  “THAT WAS A ACCIDENT!” She started to cry, which just made me angrier.

  “You nasty fucking—”

  “I heard that you was a smart boy. You don’t sound so smart to me.”

  “Oh, I think I’m smart enough to know what the score is, mother-dear. Let me guess: Your husband don’t pay you no mind these days. Marriage ain’t been worth a shit for … oh, what is it, ‘bout sixteen years?”

  “You don’t get it …,” she sobbed.

  “Sure, used to be all rose petals and soft music and holding hands in the moonlight, but since you went and squeezed out a baby it just ain’t Paris no more. Am I getting warm here?”

  “Oh sweet Jesus … sob … you just don’t uh-unnerstan’ …”

  “And I guess you’re not only resentful, but downright jealous cuz your daughter and your husband have a close bond and ain’t nobody got time for poor little you, am I off bas
e? I’m not, am I?”

  She just sobbed and muttered, “Just take her away … just take her away … Please …”

  “Okay, Ma, great talking to you. I guess we’ll be seeing ya ‘round Christmas time.”

  And I hung up. Richard stuck his head out of his room.

  “Who was that?” he asked.

  “Mother-in-law.”

  He nodded and went back in again.

  The boys started to arrive about 2:30 PM and they made so much racket that Richard was finally forced out of bed. He cooked us all up a fat vat of scrambled eggs and sausage. Joe had bought a case of Colt .45, which earned him the name “Jamal” for the remainder of the day. We whiled away our youth playing video games and drinking cheap beer.

  Around four Sherry called Richard from school. This is what I heard:

  “Uh huh. Uh huh. Holy shit! Goddamn. No way! HA HA! That’s wild! Nope. Sure wasn’t. I have no idea. Uh uh. If somebody from our chapter or any nearby did it, I’d have known. Whoever it was, I’d like to shake his hand. Naw. I’d shake their hands too. I’d show ‘em some luuuv. HA HA! Okay. Okay. You coming over? Okay, see you then. You’re gonna what? Wow, that sounds like fun. Is that legal in this state? ‘Kay, see you then. Bye.”

  “What the hell was all that?” I asked after he hung up.

  “Somebody apparently trashed the Black Student Union on campus. Somebody spray-painted ‘white power’ and ‘tar babies’ all over the place. There was almost a riot, the cops came and everything.”

  “Was anybody arrested for it?”

  “Yeah,” Richard said, failing to contain himself. “Two niggers.”

  I don’t remember laughing that long and that hard at any one thing before or since. “Them people just can’t catch a break, can they!”