Lauren Branch takes a second step away from me, toward the closed garage door. The kid under me makes a noise and I realize the gun is still digging into his face. Her eyes meet mine. We stare at each other as the cruiser moves slowly closer outside.
When I first thought to do this, when I laid out those first few steps of the plan, I never imagined a simple truth that I have learned since: I suck at controlling people. For a second, I just look at Lauren. I imagine her throwing open the bay door, flagging down the police. It would be over then. In fact, I would have made my brother’s job easy. He’d be thrilled to learn that the police found me in some stupid electronics store, threatening a pimply teenager with a pistol. Lauren would play the victim. Drew would play the distraught brother and substitute father figure for his screwup sibling. And maybe he’d end up winning his election. He’d get everything he ever wanted. And I’d go away, forever.
I can’t control her. I know that. My brother probably could. He’d find a way to convince her to turn away from the door, get back in the truck, all the while making her think it was her idea in the first place. But that’s not me. He’s always been the brain. I’ve always been the muscle. Whether I wanted to be or not. All I’ve ever had is violence.
So I keep it simple.
“You take another step and I’ll kill this kid,” I say.
Lauren freezes. She turns and looks at me, her eyes suddenly focused by fear. She searches for the bluff in my words. But I’ll do it if I have to. That’s what she sees instead. And that’s why she doesn’t go to the police.
I OPEN THE bay door as slowly as I can, leaning out to see if the police are gone. The fire lane is clear, so I throw it the rest of the way up and head to the truck. We don’t have much time. Someone from inside the store could come out at any moment.
When I turn, I see the kid. He’s still on the floor by the back of the garage.
“We weren’t here,” I say to him.
He might run inside, tell his boss. Or he might call the police. He might not, though. I think it’s more likely he’ll just disappear. Never show up again. But honestly, I just don’t care. We’ll be gone. And the police will find me eventually. So I back the truck out of the bay and we drive away.
The neighborhood isn’t far. I pull out of the parking lot and don’t see any police yet. So I speed up. But as I do, the back wheel drags against the dented panel. I figure it might blow at any second.
Lauren’s hand covers her mouth. She mumbles something. I glance over and it looks like the bleeding has stopped. But when her hand moves, I see her lip has already started to swell.
“Buckle your belt,” I say.
“You’re crazy!” she says.
I don’t answer. Instead, I look out the windshield and I’m a little kid again. Instead of my truck, I sit in a dingy yellow school bus that smells like sour milk. Instead of Lauren beside me, it is my brother, but a kid again, staring out the window just as she does. Pretending I don’t exist, just like she does.
Up ahead, I see the sign. It reads Woodside Acres in a flowing but faded script. It is a sign that is as much a part of my childhood as all the memories that come crashing back at the sight of it. We are home again, Drew and I. Like our stories are on a timeless loop.
I take the turn into my neighborhood, hard. I hear the quarter panel grind against the back tire but it doesn’t blow. So I floor the gas pedal. The speedometer hits forty as I race past two-story colonials with aging pastel siding and mature trees. I see two kids on bikes stopped at the corner. As I move closer, I swear one of them is Carter. That he’s returned to haunt me. At the same time, I smell it, I swear. It comes out of nowhere. Flowers and a slow death. I wipe at my nose but it doesn’t help. The aroma is inside me. Filling me to the point that I might get sick.
I turn onto Elder Street. Pass the Clarksons’ old house. Drew played lacrosse with their son Eric. Maybe his parents still live there. I have no idea. Eric’s BMW isn’t there, though. But that was twenty years ago. That car has to be long gone, but I look for it regardless.
Another turn and I pass Carter’s house. I feel like I am standing on that doorstep, looking up at his mother, trying to find the words to apologize for lashing out with that branch, not caring if my words soothed my friend, only worried that they be enough to assuage my father.
I hear the siren. It’s close but the police cruiser isn’t in view yet. I turn again and I see my old house. It slams into my chest. Taking my breath away. Lauren disappears. The car vanishes from underneath me. And I melt down, through the years, my age stripping away like horribly burned skin.
I am young again. Alone. Praying that my mother will come back to me. Even if the smell follows her home.