He waves it around in my face and I have to close my eyes because my vision is starting to go black at the edges. “You steal from my store and you think you get to tell me what to do?You don’t.What you get to do is come with me back to the store while I call the police. And then you get a trip to the station.”
“Fine, let’s go. But put the gun down and let him go. He didn’t take anything, it was me,” I plead. My body is shaking, not from the fear of being caught with stolen goods, but from the horrific memories playing out on the back of my eyelids. It’s the nightmare that haunts me every night. I stick my hand in my pocket and pull out a pack of menthols. “See? Here. Let him go, he paid for all of his stuff.”
They’re ripped violently from my hand and my upper arm is locked down by his other hand, which tells me he’s stashed the gun, so I open my eyes. “I know it was your friend. You sure you want to take the rap for him? I don’t care which one of you I take with me.”
“It was me,” I repeat and my depression eggs me on.You’re nothing, Toby. No one will even miss you. Cliff has family. He’s young, he still has a chance.
“Toby—” Cliff starts, but I cut him off with a sharp, definitive, “Cliff. Go. Home.”
He drops his head and shakes it but turns and walks away slowly with his plastic bag of pizzas dangling from his hand.
Dick yells, “Don’t you ever think about stepping foot in the store again! You’re banned, you hear me?” after Cliff, and then happily strong-arms me back to the QuikMart. He seats me in a chair in the back office and hovers over me like I’m going to make a break for it while he calls the cops. He’s getting off on this little taste of authority, and it makes me wonder if he was the bully or the bullied before he dropped out of school. I’m guessing the bullied.
When the officer arrives, I know him. His name is Jefferies. Johnny knows him from way back; they went to high school together or something. Cliff’s taken several rides in his cruiser over the past year he’s lived with us. He asks for my ID and I give it to him. As he’s writing down my information and filling out the form, recognition dawns when he writes the address. “You’re Johnny Stockton’s kid, right?”
“He’s my guardian,” I answer. We don’t have that in writing; it’s not legally true, but we’ve resorted to using the title when I’m unable to forge my mom’s name on documents and a living, breathing person is required to make an appearance.
He nods. It’s not a disinterested gesture, but I can tell that QuikMart Dick isn’t impressed that Officer Jefferies’ level of enthusiasm doesn’t match his own.
The way Dick describes the theft you would think it was armed robbery. It’s very dramatic.
When Officer Jefferies asks me to describe the events, I simply say, “I pocketed a pack on the way out the door.”
He nods his unbiased nod again.
Which makes Dick fume. “He’s going to jail, right?”
Jefferies answers, “He’s a minor. I’m guessing this is his first offense. So, no. It will go on his record.” Jefferies calls the station and they run my name to see if I have any priors. I don’t. Then he asks me for my home phone number and calls Johnny while Dick goes out front to help a customer. I tune out their conversation, but it’s brief. When he hangs up, he asks me to stand and he cuffs me. They’re loose on my wrists. Gripping my upper arm for Dick’s benefit, he guides me out of the office and through the store. “I’m taking him down to the station to finish the paperwork and file charges. You can never come in this store again.” He looks at me and raises his eyebrows to make sure I understand I’m not welcome here anymore.
I nod. I understand, which sucks because it’s the only store like this for blocks.
Dick points his finger at me from behind the counter and parrots Jefferies’ words, but his version is much angrier. “You can never come in this store again!”
I nod again.
Jefferies walks me outside and puts me in the back seat of his cruiser, and as soon as the door shuts, I think,I am such a loser. Before, nothing mattered except making it to the fifth of June and graduating. My life had an expiration date, nothing beyond that mattered. But now Alice matters and she deserves better than hanging out with guys who end up in the back of police cars.
Instead of driving to the station, Jefferies pulls up to the Victorian on Clarkson and double parks in front, next to Mr. Street’s cab. Once freed from the back seat, he walks me, hand on my upper arm, up the front walk to the porch. At the porch, I put my head down and pray I don’t run into anyone on the way up. It’s not that I need a lesson in shame. I’ve lived with shame every day for two years, but this is a fresh round of it and it hurts.
We make it past Mr. Street’s door unseen and I close my eyes as we walk up the first flight of stairs. Rounding the turn to take the second flight I let out the breath I was holding as we leave Mrs. Bennett and Alice’s apartments behind us.
But when I hear a knock on the door from above my stomach clenches. The door creaks open before we crest the stairs and Taber’s voice pinches my eyelids closed again, as if I can block him out while my heart plummets. “Can you tell Toby we’re leaving in two minutes for the venue? We’ll be out in the van waiting for him. Also, the lock is jammed on the door out to the fire escape and I was wondering if you could come look at it tonight while we’re out? I tried to fix it, but my tool selection is pretty bleak. As are my handyman skills.”
Johnny sees us out of the corner of his eye coming into view when he says, “I’ll be down in a bit to look at the lock.”
“Okay. Thanks, man,” Taber answers.
When we reach the landing, I meet Johnny’s eyes—I don’t want to, but I do—and he sighs. The sigh kills me. I don’t know why but the idea that I’ve disappointed him in such a cliché Cliff way is killing me.
“No problem,” he replies distractedly to Taber.
Before I can drop my eyes and avert a second round of judgment, I catch Taber’s gaze when he turns for the stairs to exit. After he takes in the humiliation on my face, his eyes dart to Officer Jefferies and the handcuffs, both a neon sign advertising I’ve fucked up. That Iama fuck up. The shock on his face is evident, and though there’s something else in his eyes, I don’t hold the connection long enough to puzzle it out. I look the other way when he approaches.
“What’s going on?” Taber asks, the shock still winning out. I’m not sure which one of us he’s asking.
When Officer Jefferies and Johnny both remain quiet, I man up. “Shoplifting.” I look him in the eyes when I say it.
Looking from me to Officer Jefferies to Johnny he seems at a loss. He settles on, “I’m guessing this means you won’t make the gig tonight?”
